MODERN  CLASSICS. 


The  convenient  little  volumes  published  under 
this  general  title,  are  in  the  best  sense  classic  though 
all  of  them  are  modern.  Thty  include  selections 
from  the  works  of  the  most  eminent  writers  of  Eng- 
land and  America,  and  translations  of  several  mas- 
terpieces by  continental  authors. 

These  selections  are  not  what  are  generally  known 
as  "  elegant  extracts,"  single  paragraphs  which  arc 
peculiarly  quotable  ;  hat  they  consist  in  most  cases 
of  entire  poems,  essays,  sketches,  and  stories.  The 
authors  are  not  only  shown  at  their  best,  but  so 
fully  as  to  give  an  adequate  idea  of  their  various 
styles,  modes  of  thought,  attd  distinguishing  traits. 

i  ^  ',  instances  the  sejections  from  an  author 

are  accompanied  by  a  biographical  or  critical  essay 
from  another  writer,  —  an  arrangement  which  cannot 
fail  to  lend  additional  interest  both  to  the  essay  and 
♦o  the  selections,  especially  when  the  books  are 
uaed  in  schools,  The  choice  character  of  the  selec- 
tions in  these  volumes  makes  them  peculiarly  suit 
able  for  use  in  schools  for  supplementary  reading  ; 
as  indeed  it  also  makes  them  peculiarly  desirable 
for  household  libraries. 


MODERN   CLASSICS. 


■^      "  ;  Allies  Standish.  S  I>ONerBtxo«i. 


r.  Beauty. 

'  Embbsom. 


1 

T.;fe.  { 
iity.   ) 


>ns. 

Emer^om. 


•;  Beach.  J  Whittier 

■ir  LaunfaL  ] 


hmrau. 
»     I  D\ckea».     Ifiwvam 

l^^..j  ^ ..,  .-..^  ^...,.  v.>  ,.,^  .  ijendt.     FtKt.a«. 

».  The  Ancient  Manner.  1  >,„.  „„.,w- 

Vi  3.       WoROSWOETil. 

la.    St.  PiESRB. 
^  '.-ads;  Marjoric  Fleming.  ) 

I  Os.  J<:>MK  BaowK 

.  ech.  ) 

Kx    :  Arden.      1 

in  .M-moriam.      >  TbmnysOM. 
Jfa»orite  Poems. ) 

See  pagt  oppoHU  inside  of  }tut 


Digitized  by  .the  Internet  Arclnive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosdft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/evangelinecourtsOOIongiala 


Sr^otcnt  dajef^ic^. 


EVANGELINE. 

COURTSHIP   OF   MILES    STANDISH. 

FAVORITE   POEMS. 


BY 
HENRY  WADSWoIrTH  LONGFELLOW. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


%- 


BOSTON: 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1858,  i8'i3.  and  1866, 
By  HENRY  WADS^ORTH   LONGFELLOW. 

Copyright,  18%, 
By  ERNEST  W.  LONGFELLOW. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Camhriilge ,  Mass  ,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotjped  aad  Friated  by  IL  O.  Uoughtou  &  Coaipso/. 


^ 


EVANGELINE. 


^ 


EVANGELINE. 


A  TALE  OF  ACADIE. 


[iHIS  is  the  forest  primeval.     The  mur- 
muring pines  aud  the  hemlocks, 
t)  Bearded  with    moss,  and  in  garments 
green,  indistinct  in  the  twilight. 
Stand  like  Druids  of  eld,  with  voices  sad  and 

prophetic. 
Stand  like  harpers  hoar,  with  beards  that  rest  on 

their  bosoms. 
Loud  from  its  rocky  caverns,  the  deep-voiced 

neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 
wail  of  the  forest. 

This  is  the  forest  primeval ;  but  where  are  the 
hearts  that  beneath  it 

Leaped  like  the  roe,  when  he  hears  in  the  wood- 
land the  voice  of  the  huntsman  ? 

T\Tiere  is  the  thatch-roofed  village,  the  home  of 
Acadian  fanners,  — 

Men  whose  lives  glided  on  Uke  rivers  that  water 
the  woodlands, 

Darkened  by  shadows  of  earth,  but  reflecting  an 
image  of  heaven  ? 


6  EVANGELINE. 

Waste  are  those  pleasant  farms,  and  tlie  farmers 

forever  d.;|)artcd ! 
Scattered  like  d\ist  and  leaves,  when  the  mighty 

blasts  of  Otober 
Seize  them,  and  whirl  them  aloft,  and  sprinkle 

them  far  o'er  the  ocean. 
Naught  but  tradition  remains  of  the  beautiful 

village  of  Graud-Pre. 

Ye  ■who  believe  in  affection  that  hopes,  and 

endures,  and  is  patient, 
Ye  who  believe  in  the  beauty  and  strength  of 

woman's  devotion, 
List  to  the  n\ouruful  tradition  still  sung  by  the 

pines  of  the  forest ; 
List  to  a  Tale  of  Love  in  Acadie,  home  of  the 

happy. 


PART  THE  PIKST. 


N  tlie  Acadian  land,  on  the  shores  of  the 
Basin  of  Minas, 
»-^i  Distant,  secluded,  still,  the  little  village 
of  Grand-Pre 
Lay  in  the  fruitful  valley.  Vast  meadows  stretched 

to  the  eastward. 
Giving  the  village  its  name,  and  pasture  to  flocks 

without  number. 
Dikes,  that  tlie  hands  of  the  farmers  had  raised 

with  labor  incessant. 
Shut  out  the  turbulent  tides ;  but  at  stated  sea- 
sons the  flood-^ates 
Opened,  and  welcomed  the  sea  to  wander  at  will 

o'er  the  meadows. 
West  and  south  there  were  fields  of  flax,  and 

orchards  and  cornfields 
Spreading  afar  and  uufeuced  o'er  the  plain ;  and 

away  to  the  northward 
Blomidon  rose,  and  the  forests  old,  and  aloft  on 

the  mountains 
Sea-fogs  pitched  tlieir  tents,  and  mists  from  the 

miglity  Atlantic 
Looked  on  the  happy  valley,  but  ne'er  from  their 

station  descended. 
There,  in  the  midst  of  its  farms,  reposed  the 

Acadian  village. 


8  EVANGELINE. 

Strongly  built  were  the  liouses,  with  frames  of 

oak  and  of  lieinlock, 
Such  as  tiie  peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the 

reiga  of  the  Henries. 
Thatched  were  the  roofs,  with  dormer-windows ; 

and  gables  projecting 
Over  the  basement  below  protected  and  shaded 

the  doorway. 
There  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  summer,  when 

brightly  the  sunset 
Lighted  tlae  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes 

on  tlie  chimneys. 
Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  caps  and 

in  kirtles 
Scarlet  and  blue  and  green,  with  distaffs  spinning 

the  golden 
Flax  for  the  gossiping  looms,  whose  noisy  shut- 
tles within  doors 
Mingled  their  sound  with  the  whir  of  the  wheels 

and  the  songs  of  the  maidens. 
Solemnly  down  the  street  came  the  parish  priest, 

and  the  children 
Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended 

to  bless  them. 
Reverend  walked  he  among  them ;  and  up  rose 

matrons  and  maidens. 
Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affec- 
tionate welcome. 
Then  came  the  laborers  liome  from  the  field,  and 

serenely  the  sun  sank 
Down  to  his  rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.     Anon 

from  the  belfry 
Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs 

of  the  village 


EVANGELINE,  9 

ilumns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  in- 
cense ascending, 
Rose  from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace 

and  contentment. 
Thus  dwelt  together  in  love  these  simple  Acadian 

fanners,  — 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.     Alike  were 

they  free  from 
Fear,  that  reigns  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the 

vice  of  republics. 
Neither  locks  had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to 

their  windows ; 
But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the 

hearts  of  the  owners ; 
There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived 

in  abundance. 

Somewhat  apart  from  the  village,  and  nearer 

the  Basm  of  Minas, 
Benedict  Bellefontaine,  the  wealthiest  farmer  of 

Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt  on  his  goodly  acres ;  and  with  him,  direct- 
ing his  household, 
Grentle  Evangeline  lived,  his  child,  and  the  pride 

of  tlie  village. 
Stalworlh  and  stately  in  form  was  the  man  of 

seventy  winters ; 
Hearty  and  hale  was  he,  an  oak  that  is  covered 

with  snow-flakes ; 
Wliite  as  t  he  snow  were  his  locks,  and  his  cheeks 

as  brown  as  the  oak-leaves. 
Fair  was  she  to  behold,  that  maiden  of  seventeen 

summers. 
Black  were  her  eyes  as  the  berry  that  grows  on 

the  thorn  by  the  wayside. 


10  EVANGELINE. 

Black,  yet  how  softly  they  gleamed  beneath  the 

brown  sliade  of  her  tresses! 
Sweet  was  lier  breath  as  the  breath  of  kine  that 

feed  ill  tlie  meadows. 
When  in  the  harvest  heat  she  bore  to  the  reapers 

at  noontide 
Flagons  of  liome-brewed  ale,  ah !  fair  in  sooth 

was  the  maiden. 
Fairer  was  slie  wlien,  on  Sunday  morn,  while  the 

bell  from  its  turret 
Sprinkled  witli  holy  sounds  the  air,  as  the  priest 

with  his  hyssop 
Sprinkles  the  congregation,  and  scatters  blessings 

u]ion  them, 
Down  the  long  street  she  passed,  with  her  chaplet 

of  beads  and  her  missal, 
Wearing  her  Norman  cap,  and  her  kirtle  of  blue, 

and  the  ear-rings, 
Brought  in  the  olden  time  from  France,  and  since, 

as  an  heirloom, 
Handed  down  from  mother  to  child,  through  long 

generations. 
But   a  celestial  brightness  —  a  more   ethereal 

beauty  — 
Shone  on  her  face  and  encircled  her  form,  when, 

after  confession. 
Homeward  serenely  she  walked  with  God's  bene- 
diction upon  her. 
When  she  had  ]iassed,  it  seemed  like  the  ceasing 

of  exquisite  music. 

Firmly  builded  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house 
of  tiie  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  hill  commanding  the  sea ; 
and  a  shady 


EVANGELINE.  13 

Sycamore  grew  by  the  door,  with  a  woodbine 

wreathing  around  it. 
Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  with  seats  beneath ; 

and  a  footpath 
Led  through  au  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared  in 

the  meadow. 
Under  the  svcamore-tree  were  hives  overhung  by 

a  penthouse, 
Such  as  the  traveller  sees  in  regions  remote  by  the 

roadside. 
Built  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,  or  the  blessed  image 

of  Mary. 
Farther  down,  on  the  slope  of  the  hiU,  was  the 

well  with  its  moss-grown 
Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough 

for  the  horses. 
Shielding  the  house  from  storms,  on  the  north, 

were  the  bams  and  the  farm-yard. 
There  stood  the   broad-wheeled  warns  and  the 

antique  ploughs  and  the  harrows ; 
There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep ;  and  there,  in 

his  feathered  seraglio. 
Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock, 

with  the  selfsame 
Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  penitent 

Peter. 
Bursting  with  hay  were  the  bams,  themselves  a 

village.     In  each  one 
Far  o'er  the  gable  projected  a  roof  of  thatch  ;  and 

a  staircase. 
Under  the  sheltering  eaves,  led  up  to  the  odorous 

corn-loft. 
There  too  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and 

innocent  inmates 


14  EVANGELINE. 

Murmuring  ever  of  love ;   wliile  above  in   tlie 

variant  breezes 
Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang 

of  mutation. 

Tbus,  at  peace  with  God  and  the  world,  the 
farmer  of  Grand-Pre 

Lived  on  his  sunny  farm,  and  Evangeline  gov- 
erned his  household. 

Many  a  youth,  as  he  knelt  in  the  church  and 
opened  his  missal. 

Fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  as  the  saint  of  his 
deepest  devotion ; 

Happy  was  he  who  might  touch  her  hand  or  the 
hem  of  her  garment ! 

Many  a  suitor  came  to  her  door,  by  the  darkness 
befriended, 

And,  as  he  knocked  and  waited  to  hear  the  sound 
of  her  footsteps. 

Knew  not  which  beat  the  louder,  his  heart  or  the 
knocker  of  iron; 

Or  at  the  joyous  feast  of  the  Patron  Saint  of  the 
village. 

Bolder  grew,  and  pressed  her  hand  in  the  dance 
as  he  whispered 

Hurried  words  of  love,  that  seemed  a  part  of  the 
music. 

But,  among  all  who  came,  young  Gabriel  only  was 
welcome ; 

Gabriel  Lajeuuesse,  the  son  of  Basil  the  black- 
smith, 

Who  was  a  mighty  man  in  the  village,  and  hon- 
ored of  all  men ; 

For,  since  the  birth  of  time,  throughout  all  ages 
and  nations, 


EVANGELINE.  15 

Has  the  craft  of  the  smith  been  held  in  repute  by 

the  people. 
Basil  was  Benedict's  friend.   Their  children  from 

earliest  cliildliood 
Grew  up  together  as  brother  and  sister;  and  Father 

Fehciau, 
Priest  and   pedagogue  both  in  the  village,  had 

taught  them  their  letters 
Out  of  the  selfsame  book,  with  the  hymns  of  the 

church  aud  tiie  plain-song. 
But  when  the  liymu  was  sung,  and  the  daily  lesson 

completed, 
Swiftly  they  imrried  away  to  the  forge  of  Basil  the 

blacksmith. 
Thereat  the  door  they  stood,  with  wondering  eyes 

to  behold  him 
Take  in  his  leathern  lap  the  hoof  of  the  horse  as 

a  plaything, 
Naihug  the  shoe  in  its  place;  while  near  him  the 

tire  of  the  cart-wheel 
Lay  like  a  fiery  snake,  coiled  round  in  a  circle  of 

chiders. 
Oft  on  autumnal  eves,  when  without  in  the  gather- 
ing darkness 
Bursting  with  light  seemed  the  smithy,  through 

every  cranny  and  crevice. 
Warm  by  the  forge  within  they  watched tlie  labor- 
ing bellows, 
And  as  its  panting  ceased,  and  the  sparks  expired 

in  the  ashes, 
Merrily  laughed,  and  said  they  were  nuns  going 

into  the  chapel. 
Oft  on  sledges  in  winter,  as  swift  as  the  swoop  of 

the  eagle, 


16  EVANGELINE. 

Down  the  hillside  bounding,  they  glided  away 

o'er  the  meadow. 
Oft  in  the  bams  tliey  climbed  to  the  populous 

nests  on  the  rafters, 
Seeking  with  eager  eyes  that  wondrous   stone, 

which  tlip,  swallow 
jBrings  from  the  shore  of  the  sea  to  restore  the  sight 

of  its  fledglings ; 
Lucky  was  he  who  found  that  stone  in  the  nest  of 

the  swallow ! 
Thus  passed  a  few  swift  years,  and  they  no  longer 

were  children. 
He  was  a  valiant  youth,  and  his  face,  like  the  face 

of  the  morning, 
Gladdened  the  earth  with  its  light,  and  ripened 

thought  into  action. 
She  was  a  woman  now,  with  the  heart  and  hopes 

of  a  woman. 
"  Sunshine  of  Saint  Eulalie  "  was  she  called ;  for 

that  was  the  sunshine 
Which,  as  the  farmers  believed,  would  load  their 

orchards  with  apples ; 
She,  too,  would  bring  to  her  husband's  house 

delight  and  abundance, 
Pilling  it  lull  of  love  and  the  ruddy  faces  of 

children. 


Now  had  the  season  returned,  when  the  nights 
grow  colder  and  longer,  .  • 

And  the  retreating  sun  the  sign  of  the  Scorpion 
enters. 

Birds  of  passage  sailed  through  the  leaden  air, 
from  the  ice-bound. 


EVANGELINE.  17 

Desolate  northeni  bays  to  the  shores  of  tropical 
islands. 

Harvests  were  gathered  in ;  and  wild  with  the 
winds  of  September 

Wrestled  the  trees  of  the  forest,  as  Jacob  of  old 
with  tiie  angel. 

All  the  signs  foretold  a  winter  long  and  inclem- 
ent.    ( 

Bees,  with  prophetic  instinct  of  want,  had  hoarded 
their  honey 

Till  the  hives  overflowed  ;  and  the  Indian  hunters 
asserted 

Cold  would  the  winter  be,  for  thick  was  the  fur 
of  tlie  foxes. 

Such  was  the  advent  of  autumn.  Then  followed 
that  beautiful  season, 

Called  by  the  pious  Acadian  peasants  the  Summer 
of  All-Saints ! 

Filled  was  the  air  with  a  dreamy  and  magical 
light ;  and  the  landscape 

Lay  as  if  new-created  in  all  the  freshness  of  child- 
hood. 

Peace  seemed  to  reign  upon  earth,  and  the  rest- 
less heart  of  the  ocean 

Was  for  a  moment  consoled.  All  souuds  were 
in  harmony  blended. 

Voices  of  children  at  play,  the  crowing  of  cocks 
in  the  farm -yards. 

Whir  of  wings  in  the  drowsy  air,  and  the  cooing 
of  pigeons, 

All  were  subdued  and  low  as  the  murmurs  of 
love,  and  the  great  sun 

Looked  witli  the  eye  of  love  through  the  golden 
vapors  around  iiim  ; 


18  EVANGELINE. 

While  arrayed  in  its  robes  of  russet  and  scarlet 

and  yellow, 
Bright  witlilhe  sheen  of  the  dew,  each  glittering 

tree  of  the  forest 
Flashed  like  the  plane-tree  the  Persian  adorned 

with  mantles  and  jewels. 

Now  recommenced  the  reign  of  rest  and  affec- 
tion and  stillness. 
Day  with  its  bnrden  and  heat  had  departed,  and 

twilight  descending 
Brought  back  the  evening  star  to  the  sky,  and 

the  herds  to  the  iiomcstead. 
Pawing  the  ground  they  came,  and  resting  their 

necks  on  each  other. 
And  with  tlieir  nostrils  distended  inhaling  the 

freshness  of  evening. 
Foremost,  bearing  the  bell,  Evangeline's  beauti- 
ful heifer, 
Proud  of  lier  snow-white  hide,  and  the  ribbon 

that  waved  from  her  collar. 
Quietly  paced  and  slow,  as  if  conscious  of  human 

atfection. 
Then  came  the  shepherd  back  with  his  bleating 

flocks  from  the  seaside. 
Where  was  their  favorite  pasture.     Beliind  them 

followed  the  watch-dog, 
Patient,  full  of  importance,  and  grand  in  the  pride 

of  his  instmct, 
Walking  from  side  to  side  with  a  lordly  air,  and 

superbly 
Waving  liis  bushy  tail,  and  urging  forward  the 

stragglers ; 
Regent  of  flocks  was  he  when  the  shepherd  slept ; 

their  protector, 


EVANGELINE.  19 

When  from  the  forest  at  night,  through  the  starry 

silence,  the  wolves  howled. 
Late,  with  the  rising  nioou,  returned  the  wains 

from  the  marshes. 
Laden  with  briny  hay,  that  filled  the  air  with  its 

odor. 
Cheerily  neighed  the  steeds,  with  dew  on  their 

manes  and  their  fetlocks. 
While  aloft  on  their  shoulders  the  wooden  and 

poudarous  saddles. 
Faulted  with  brilliant  dyes,  and  adorned  with  tas- 
sels of  crimson, 
Noddad  in  bright  array,  like  hollyhocks  heavy 

with  blossoms. 
Patiently  stood  the  cows  meanwhile,  and  yielded 

their  udders 
Unto  the  milkmaid's  hand ;  whilst  loud  and  ia 

i-egular  cadence 
Into  the  sounding  pails  the  foaming  streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing  of  cattle  and  peals  of  laughter  were  heard 

in  the  farm-yard, 
Echoed  back  by  the  barns.    Anon  they  sank  into 

stillness ; 
Heavily  closed,  with  a  jarring  sound,  the  valves 

of  the  barn-doors. 
Rattled  the  wooden  bars,  and  all  for  a  season 

was  silent. 

In-daors,  warm  by  the  wide-mouthed  fireplace, 

idly  the  farmer 
Sat  in  his  elbow-chair,  and  watched  how  the  flames 

and  the  smoke-wreatiis 
Struggled  together  like  foes  in  a  burning  city. 

Behuid  him, 


20  EVANGELINE. 

Nodding  and  mocking  along  tlie  wall,  with  ges- 
tures fantastic, 

Darted  ii is  own  huge  shadow,  and  vanished  away 
into  darkness. 

Faces,  clumsily  carved  in  oak,  on  the  back  of  liis 
arm-ciiair 

Laughed  in  the  flickering  light,  and  the  pewter 
plates  on  the  dresser 

Caught  and  reflected  tlie  flame,  as  shields  of 
armies  the  sunshine. 

Fragments  of  song  tiie  old  man  sang,  and  carols 
of  Christmas, 

Such  as  at  iiome,  in  the  olden  time,  his  fathers 
before  him 

Sang  in  their  Norman  orchards  and  bright  Bur- 
gundian  vineyards. 

Close  at  her  fatiier's  side  was  the  gentle  Evange- 
line seated, 

Spinning  flax  for  the  loom,  that  stood  in  the  cor- 
ner  behind  her. 

Silent  awiiile  were  its  treadles,  at  rest  was  its 
diligent  shuttle. 

While  the  monotonous  drone  of  the  wheel,  like 
the  drone  of  a  bagpipe. 

Followed  tlie  old  man's  song,  and  united  the  frag- 
ments together. 

.As  in  a  church,  when  the  chant  of  the  choir  at 
intervals  ceases. 

Footfalls  are  heard  in  the  aisles,  or  words  of  the 
priest  at  the  altar. 

So,  in  each  pause  of  the  song,  with  measured 
motion  the  clock  clicked. 

Thus  as  they  sat,  there  were  footsteps  heard, 
and,  suddenly  lifted, 


EVANGELINE.  £1 

Souuded  the  wooden  latch,  and  the  door  swung 
back  on  its  hinges. 

Benedict  knew  by  the  hobnailed  shoes  it  was 
Basil  the  blacksmith. 

And  by  her  beating  heart  Evangeline  knew  who 
was  with  him. 

"  Welcome  !  "  the  farmer  exclaimed,  as  their  foot- 
steps paused  on  the  threshold,  — 

'^Welcome,  Basil,  iny  friend  !  Come,  take  thy 
place  on  the  settle 

Close  by  the  chimney-side,  which  is  always  empty 
without  thee; 

Take  from  the  shelf  overhead  thy  pipe  and  the 
box  of  tobacco ; 

Never  so  much  thyself  art  thou  as  when  through 
the  curling 

Smoke  of  the  pipe  or  the  forge  thy  friendly  and 
jovial  face  gleams 

Round  and  red  as  the  harvest  moon  through  the 
mist  of  the  marshes." 

Then,  with  a  smile  of  content,  thus  answered 
Basil  the  blacksmith. 

Taking  with  easy  air  the  accustomed  seat  by  the 
fireside :  — 

"  Benedict  Bellefontaine,  thou  hast  ever  thy  jest 
and  thy  ballad ! 

Ever  in  cheerfuUest  mood  art  thou,  when  others 
are  filled  with 

Gloomy  forebodings  of  ill,  and  see  only  ruin  be- 
fore them. 

Happy  art  thou,  as  if  every  day  thou  hadst  picked 
up  a  horseshoe." 

Pausing  a  moment,  to  take  the  pipe  that  Evan- 
geline brought  him, 


iJ2  EVANGELINE. 

And  with  a  coal  from  the  embers  had  lighted,  he 

slowly  continued :  — 
"Tour  days  now  are  passed  since  the  English 

ships  .at  their  ancliors 
Ride  in  the  G.ispereau's  mouth,  with  their  can- 
non pointed  against  us. 
What  their  design  may  be  is  unknown ;  but  all 

are  commanded 
On  the  morrow  to  meet  in  the  church,  where  his 

Majesty's  mandate 
Will  be  proclaimed  as  law  in  the  laud.     Alas !  in 

the  mean  time 
Many  surmises  of  evil  alarm  the  hearts  of  the 

people." 
Then  made  answer  the  farmer :  —  "  Perhaps  some 

friendlier  purpose 
Brings  these  ships  to  our  shores.     Perhaps  the 

harvests  in  England 
By  untimely  rains  or  untimelier  heat  have  been 

bliglited. 
And  from  our  bursting  barns  they  would  feed 

their  cattle  and  children." 
"Not  so  thinketh  tlie  folk  in  the  village,"  said, 

warmly,  the  blacksmith, 
Shaking  his  liead,  as  in  doubt ;  then,  heaving  a 

sigh,  he  continued:  — 
"Louisburg  is  not  forgotten,  nor  Beau  Sejour, 

nor  Port  Royal. 
Many  already  have  fled  to  the  forest,  and  lurk  on 

its  outskirts, 
Waiting  witli  anxious  hearts  the  dubious  fate  of 

to-morrow. 
Arms   have  been   taken   from  us,  and  warlike 

weapons  of  all  kinds; 


EVANGELINE.  23 

Nothing  is  left  but  the  blacksmith's  sledge  and 

the  scythe  of  the  mower." 
Then  witli  a  pleasant  smile  made  answer  the 

jovial  farmer :  — 
"  Safer  are  we  unarmed,  in  the  midst  of  our  flocks 

and  our  cornfields. 
Safer  within  these  peaceful  dikes,  besieged  by  the 

ocean, 
Than  our  fathers  in  forts,  besieged  by  the  ene- 
my's cannon. 
Fear  no  evil,  my  friend,  and  to-night  may  no 

shadow  of  sorrow 
Fall  on  this  house  and  hearth;  for  this  is  the 

nigiit  of  the  contract. 
Built  are  the  house  and  the  bam.     The  merry 

lads  of  the  village 
Strongly  have  built  them  and  well ;  and,  break- 
ing the  glebe  round  about  them. 
Filled  the  barn  with  hay,  and  the  bouse  with  food 

for  a  twelvemonth. 
Rene  Leblanc  will  be  here  anon,  with  his  papers 

and  inkhom. 
Shall  we  not  then  be  glad,  and  rejoice  in  the  joy 

of  our  cliildren  ':* " 
As  apart  by  the  window  she  stood,  with  ber  hand 

in  lier  lover's, 
Blnshmg  Evangeline  heard  the  words  that  her 

father  had  spoken. 
And,  as  they  died  on  his  lips,  the  worthy  notary 

entered. 

III. 

Bent,  like  a  laboring  oar,  that  toils  in  the  surf 
of  the  ocean. 


24  EVANGELINE. 

Bent,  but  not  broken,  by  age  was  the  form  of  the 

notary-public  ; 
Shocks  of  yellow  hair,  like  the  silken  floss  of  the 

maize,  hung 
Over  his  shoulders  ;  his  forehead  was  high  ;  and 

glasses  with  horn  bo\As 
Sat  astride  on  liis  nose,  with  a  look  of  wisdom 

supernal. 
Father  of  twenty  children  was  he,  and  more  than 

a  hundred 
Children's  children  rode  on  his  knee,  and  heard 

his  great  watch  tick. 
Four  long  years  in  the  times  of  the  war  had  he 

languished  a  captive, 
Suffering  much  in  an  old  French  fort  as  the  friend 

of  the  English. 
Now,  thougli  warier  grown,  without  all  guile  or 

susp  cion. 
Ripe  in  wisdom  was  he,  but  patient,  and  simple, 

and  childlike. 
He  was  beloved  by  all,  and  most  of  all  by  the 

children  ; 
For  he  told  them  tales  of  the  Loup-garou  in  the 

forest. 
And  of  the  goblin  that  came  in  the  night  to  water 

the  horses, 
And  of  the  white  Letiche,  the  ghost  of  a  child 

who  unchristened 
Died,  and  was  doomed  to  haunt  unseen  the  cham- 
bers of  children ; 
And  how  on  Christmas  eve  the  oxen  talked  in 

the  stable, 
And  how  the  fever  was  cured  by  a  spider  shut  up 

in  a  nutshell. 


I 


EVANGELINE.  25 

And  of  the  marvellous  powers  of  four-leaved  clo- 
ver and  lioiseslues, 
Wiib  wliatsoever  eke  was  writ  in  the  lore  of  the 

village. 
Then  up  rose  from  his  seat  by  the  fireside  Basil 

tlie  blacksmith. 
Knocked  from  liis  pipe  the  ashes,  and  slowly  ex- 
tending Ills  riglit  hand, 
"Father  Leblanc,"    he   exclaimed,  "thou  hast 

heard  the  talk  in  tlie  village. 
And,  perciiance,  canst  tell  us  some  news  of  these 

ships  and  tiieir  errand." 
Then  with  modest  demeanor  made  answer  the 

notary-public,  — 
"  Gossip  enough  have  I  heard,  in  sooth,  yet  am 

never  the  wiser ; 
And  what  their  errand  may  be  I  know  not  better 

than  others. 
Yet  am  I  not  of  those  who  imagine  some  evU 

intention 
Brings  tliein  iiere,  for  we  are  at  peace  ;  and  why 

then  molest  us?" 
"  God's  name  '. "  shouted  the  hasty  and  somewhat 

irascible  blacksmith ; 
"  Must  we  in  all  things  look  for  the  how,  and  the 

why,  and  the  wherefore  ? 
Daily  injustice  is  done,  and  might  is  the  right  of 

tiie  strongest ! " 
But,  without  heeding  his  warmth,  continued  the 

notary-public,  — 
"Man  is  unjust,  but  God  is  just;  and  finally 

justice 
Triumphs ;  and  well  I  remember  a  story,  tliat 

often  consoled  me. 


26  EVANGELINE. 

When  as  a  captive  I  lay  m  the  old  French  fort  at 

Port  Royal." 
This  was  the  old  man's  favorite  tale,  and  he  loved 

to  rej)('at  it 
When  his  neighbors  complained  that  any  injustice 

was  done  thein. 
"  Once  in  an  ancient  city,  whose  name  I  no  longer 

remember, 
Raised  aloft  on  a   column,  a  brazen  statue  of 

Justice 
Stood  in  the  public  square,  upholding  the  scales 

in  its  left  hand. 
And  in  its  right  a  sword,  as  an  emblem  that  jus- 
tice presided 
Over  the  laws  of  the  land,  and  the  hearts  and 

homes  of  the  people. 
Even  the  birds  hud  built  theii*  nests  in  the  scales 

of  the  balance. 
Having  no  fear  of  the  sword  that  flashed  in  the 

sunshme  above  them. 
But  in  the  course  of  time  the  laws  of  the  land 

wei-e  corrupted  ; 
Might  took  the  place  of  right,  and  the  weak  were 

oppressed,  and  the  mighty 
Ruled  With  an  iron  rod.     Then  it  chanced  in  a 

noblemau's  palace 
That  a  necklace  of  pearls  was  lost,  and  erelong  a 

suspicion 
Fell  on  an  orphan  girl  who  lived  as  maid  in  the 

household. 
Slie,  after  form  of  trial  condemned  to  die  on  the 

sealfold. 
Patiently  met  her  doom  at  the  foot  of  the  statue 

of  Justice. 


EVANGELINE.  27 

As  to  her  Father  iu  heaven  her  innocent  spirit 

ascended, 
Lo!  o'er  the  ciiy  a  tempest  rose;  and  the  bolts 

of  the  thunder 
Smote  the  statue  of  bronze,  and  hurled  in  wrath 

from  its  left  hand 
Down  on  the  pavement  below  the  clattering  scales 

of  the  balance, 
A.nd  in  the  hollow  thereof  was  found  the  nest  of 

a  magpie. 
Into  whose  clay -built  walls  the  necklace  of  pearls 

was  inwoven." 
Silenced,  but  not  convinced,  when  the  story  was 

ended,  the  blacksmhli 
Stood   like  a  man  who  fain  would  speak,  but 

fnideth  no  language ; 
All  his  thoughts  were  cougealed  into  lines  on  his 

face,  as  the  vapors 
Freeze  in  fantastic  shapes  on  the  window-panes 

in  the  winter. 

Then  Evangeline  lighted  the  brazen  lamp  on 

the  table. 
Filled,  till  it  overflowed,  the  pewter  tankard  with 

home-brewed 
Nut-brown  ale,  that  was  famed  for  its  strength 

in  the  village  of  Grand-Pre ; 
While  from  his  pocket  the  notary  drew  his  papers 

and  inkhom, 
Wrote  with  a  steady  hand  the  date  and  the  age 

of  the  parties, 
Naming  the  dower  of  the  bride  in  flocks  of  sheep 

and  in  cattle. 
Orderly  all  thiugs  proceeded,  and  duly  and  well 

were  completed, 


28  EVANGELINE. 

And  the  great  seal  of  the  law  was  set  like  a  sun 
on  the  iTiargiii. 

Then  from  liis  leatlicrn  pouch  the  farmer  threw 
on  the  table 

Three  times  the  old  man's  fee  in  solid  pieces  of 
silver; 

And  the  notary  rising,  and  blessing  the  bride  and 
the  bridegroom, 

Lifted  aloft  the  tankard  of  ale  and  drank  to  their 
welfare. 

Wiping  the  foam  from  his  lip,  he  solemnly  bowed 
and  departed. 

While  in  silence  the  others  sat  and  mused  by  the 
firesid3, 

Till  Evangeline  brought  the  draught-board  out 
of  its  corner. 

Soon  was  the  game  begun.  In  friendly  conten- 
tion the  old  men 

Laughed  at  each  lucky  hit,  or  vmsuccessful  ma- 
noeuvre. 

Laughed  when  a  man  was  crowned,  or  a  breach 
was  made  in  the  king-row. 

Meanwhile  apart,  in  the  twilight  gloom  of  a  win- 
dow's embrasure. 

Sat  the  lovers,  and  whispered  together,  beholding 
the  moon  rise 

Over  the  pallid  sea  and  the  silvery  mist  of  the 
meadows. 

Silently  one  by  one,  in  the  infinite  meadows  of 
heaven, 

Blossomed  the  lovely  stars,  the  forget-me-nots  of 
the  angels. 

Thus  was  the  evening  passed.     Anon  the  bell 
from  the  bflfry 


EVANGELINE.  29 

Rang  out  the  hour  of  nine,  the  village  curfew, 

and  sti'aiglitway 
Rose  the  guests  and  departed ;  and  silence  reigned 

in  the  household. 
Many  a  farewell  word  and  sweet  good-night  on 

tlie  door-step 
Lingered  long  in  Evangeline's  heart,  and  filled  it 

with  gladness. 
Carefully  tlien  were   covered   the   embers   that 

glowed  on  tlie  hearth-stone, 
And  on  tlie  oaken  stairs  resounded  the  tread  of 

the  farmer. 
Soon  with  a  soundless  step  the  foot  of  Evangeline 

followed. 
Up  the  staircase  moved  a  luminous  space  in  the 

darkness, 
Lighted  less  by  the  lamp  than  the  shining  face 

of  the  maiden. 
Silent  she  passed  the  hall,  and  entered  the  door 

of  her  chamber. 
Simple  that  chamber  was,  with  its  curtains  of 

white,  and  its  clothes-press 
Ample  and  higli,  on  whose  spacious  shelves  were 

carefully  folded 
Linen  and  woollen  stuffs,  by  the  hand  of  Evange- 
line woven. 
This  was  the  precious  dower  she  would  bring  to 

her  husband  in  marriage. 
Better  than  flocks  and  herds,  being  proofs  of  her 

skill  as  a  housewife. 
Soon  she  extinguished  her  lamp,  for  the  mellow 

and  radiant  moonlight 
Streamed  through  the  windows,  and  lighted  the 

room,  till  the  heart  of  the  maiden 


30  EVANGELINE. 

Swelled  and  obeyed  its  power,  like  the  tremulous 
tides  of  the  ocean. 

All!  she  was  fair,  exceeding  fair  to  behold,  as 
she  stood  with 

Naked  snow-white  feet  on  the  gleaming  floor  of 
her  chamber ! 

Little  she  dreamed  that  below,  among  the  trees 
of  the  orchard. 

Waited  her  lover  and  watched  for  the  gleam  of 
her  lamp  and  her  shadow. 

Yet  were  her  thoughts  of  him,  and  at  times  a 
feeling  of  sadness 

Passed  o'er  her  soul,  as  the  sailing  shade  of  clouds 
in  the  moonlight 

Flitted  across  the  floor  and  darkened  the  room 
for  a  moment. 

And,  as  slie  gazed  from  the  window,  she  saw 
serenely  the  moon  pass 

Forth  from  the  folds  of  a  cloud,  and  one  star  fol- 
low her  footsteps, 

As  out  of  Abraham's  tent  young  Ishmael  wan- 
dered with  Haarar ! 


IV. 

Pleasantly  rose  next  morn  the  sun  on  the  vil- 
lage of  Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly  gleamed  in  the  soft,  sweet  air  the  Basin 
of  Minas, 

Where  the  ships,  witli  their  wavering  shadows, 
were  riding  at  anchor. 

Life  had  long  been  astir  in  the  village,  and  clam- 
orous labor 

Knocked  with  its  hundred  hands  at  the  golden 
ffates  of  the  momi"". 


EVANGELINE.  31 

Now  from  the  country  around,  from  the  farmi 

and  neigliboriug  hamlets. 
Came  in  their  hoUday  dresses  the  bUthe  Acadian 

peasants. 
Many  a  glad  good-morrow  and  jocund  laugh  from 

the  young  folk 
Made  the  bright  air  brighter,  as  up  from  the  nu- 
merous meadows. 
Where  no  path  could  be  seen  but  the  track  of 

wheels  in  the  greensward. 
Group  after  group  apjjeared,  and  joined,  or  passed 

on  the  highway. 
Long  ere  noon,  in  the  village  all  sounds  of  labor 

were  silenced. 
Thronged  were  the   streets  with  people;   and 

noisy  groups  at  the  house-doors 
Sat  in  the  clieerful  sun,  and  rejoiced  aud  gossiped 

together. 
Every  house  was  an  inn,  where  all  were  welcomed 

and  feasted; 
For  with  this  simple  people,  who  lived  like  broth- 

ers  together, 
AH  things  were  held  in  common,  and  what  one 

had  was  another's. 
Yet  under  Benedict's  roof  hospitality  seemed 

more  abundant : 
For  Evangeline  stood  among  the  guests  of  her 

fat  her ; 
Bright  was  her  face  with  smiles,  and  words  of 

welcome  aud  gladness 
Fell  from  her  beautiful  hps,  and  blessed  the  cup 

as  she  gave  it. 

tJuder  the  open  sky,  in  the  odorous  air  of  the 
orchard. 


32  EVANGELINE. 

Stript  of  its  golden  fruit,  was  spread  the  feasi  of 
betrothal. 

There  in  the  shade  of  the  porch  were  the  priest 
and  the  notary  seated; 

There  good  Benedict  sat,  and  sturdy  Basil  the 
blacksmith. 

Not  far  withdrawn  from  these,  by  the  cider-pres» 
and  the  beehives, 

Michael  the  fiddler  was  placed,  with  the  gayest 
of  hearts  and  of  waistcoats. 

Shadow  and  light  from  the  leaves  alternately 
played  on  his  snow-white 

Hair,  as  it"^ waved  in  the  wind;  and  the  joUy  face 
of  the  fiddler 

Glowed  like  a  livuig  coal  when  the  ashes  are 
blown  from  the  embers. 

Gayly  the  old  man  sang  to  the  vibrant  sound  of 
his  fiddle, 

Tous  les  BourgeoU  de  Chartres,  and  Le  Carillon, 
de  Dunkerque, 

And  anon  with  his  wooden  shoes  beat  time  to  the 
music. 

Merrily,  merrily  whirled  the  wheels  of  the  dizzy- 
ing dances 

Under  the  orchard-trees  and  down  the  path  to 
the  meadows ; 

Old  folk  and  young  together,  and  children  min- 
gled among  them. 

Fairest  of  all  the  maids  was  Evangeline,  Bene- 
dict's daughter ! 

Noblest  of  all  the  youths  was  Gabriel,  son  of  the 
blacksmith ! 

60  passed  the  morning  away.     And  lo  !  with 
a  summons  sonorous 


EVANGELINE.  33 

Bounded  the  bell  from  its  tower,  and  over  the 
meadows  a  drum  beat. 

Thronged  erelong  was  tlie  church  with  men. 
Without,  in  the  churchyard. 

Waited  the  women.  They  stood  by  the  graves, 
and  hung  on  the  headstones 

Garlands  of  autumn-leaves  and  evergreens  fresL 
from  the  forest. 

Then  came  the  guard  from  the  ships,  and  march- 
ing proudly  amoug  them 

Entered  the  sacred  portal.  With  loud  and  disso- 
nant clangor 

Echoed  the  sound  of  their  brazen  drums  from 
ceiling  and  casement, — 

Echoed  a  moment  only,  and  slowly  the  ponderous 
portal 

Closed,  and  in  silence  the  crowd  awaited  the  will 
of  the  soldiers. 

Then  uprose  their  commander,  and  spake  from 
the  steps  of  the  altar. 

Holding  aloft  in  his  hands,  with  its  seals,  the 
royal  commission. 

"  You  are  convened  tliis  day,"  he  said,  "  by  his 
Majesty's  oi-ders. 

Clement  and  kind  has  he  been ;  but  how  you 
have  answered  his  kindness. 

Let  your  own  hearts  reply !  To  my  natural 
make  and  my  temper 

Painful  the  task  is  I  do,  which  to  you  I  know- 
must  be  grievous. 

Yet  must  I  bow  and  oljey,  and  deliver  the  will  of 
our  monarch ; 

Namely,  that  all  vour  lands,  and  dwellings,  and 
cattle  of  all  kinds 


34  EVANGELINE. 

Torfeited  be  to  the  crown ;  and  that  you  your- 
selves from  this  province 

Be  transported  to  other  lands.     God  grant  you 
may  dwell  there 

Ever  as  faithful  subjects,  a  happy  and  peaceable 
people ! 

Prisoners  now  I  declare  you  ;  for  such  is  his  Maj- 
esty's pleasure  !  " 

As,  when  the  air  is  serene  in  the  sultry  solstice 
of  summer, 

Suddenly  gathers  a  storm,  and  the  deadly  sling 
of  tlie  hailstones 

Beats  down  the  farmer's  corn  in  the  field  and 
shatters  his  windows, 

Hiding  the  sun,  and  strewing  the  ground  with 
thatch  from  the  house-roofs. 

Bellowing  fly  the  herds,  and  seek  to  break  their 
enclosures ; 

So  on  the  hearts  of  the  people  descended  the 
words  of  the  speaker. 

Silent  a  moment  they  stood  in  speechless  won- 
der, and  then  rose 

Louder  and  ever  louder  a  wail  of  sorrow  and  an- 
ger. 

And,  by  one  impulse  moved,  they  madly  rushed 
to  the  doorway. 

Vain  was  the  hope  of  escape  ;  and  cries  and  fierce 
imprecations 

Bang  through  the  house  of  prayer;  and  higli 
o'er  the  heads  of  the  others 

Rose,  with  his  arms  uplifted,  the  figure  of  Basil 

the  blacksmith, 
As,  on  a  stormy  sea,  a  spar  is  tossed  by  the 
billows. 


EVANGELINE,  35 

Flusheci  was  his  face  and  distorted  with  passion ; 

and  wildly  lie  shouted,  — 
"Down  witii  the  tyrants  of  England!  we  never 

have  sworn  them  allegiance  1 
Death  to  tiiese  foreign  soldiers,  who  seize  on  our 

homes  and  our  harvests  !  " 
More  he  fain  would  have  said,  but  the  merciless 

hand  of  a  soldier 
Smote  him  upon  the  mouth,  and  dragged  him 

down  to  the  pavement. 

In  the  midst  of  the  strife  and  tumult  of  argry 

contention, 
Lo  !  the  door  of  the  chancel  opened,  and  Father 

Felician 
Entered,  with  serious  mien,  and  ascended  the 

steps  of  the  altar. 
Raising  his  reverend  hand,  with  a  gesture  he 

awed  into  silence 
All  that  clamorous  throng ;  and  thus  he  spake  to 

his  people ; 
Deep   were    his  tones  and  solemn;   in  accents 

measured  and  mournful 
Spake  he,  as,  after  the  tocsin's  alarum,  distinctly 

the  clock  strikes. 
"What  is  this  that  ye  do,  my  children?  what 

madness  has  seized  you  ? 
Forty  years  of  my  life  have  I  labored  among  you, 

and  taught  you, 
Not   in  word   alone,  but  in  deed,  to  love  one 

another ! 
Is  this  the  fruit  of  my  toils,  of  my  vigils  and 

prayers  and  privations? 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  all  lessons  of  love 

and  forgiveness  ? 


36  EVANGELINE. 

Tbis  is  the  house  of  the  Prince  of  Peace,  and 

■would  you  profane  it 
Thus  with  violent  deeds  and  hearts  overflowing 

with  hatred  ? 
Lo  !  where  the  crucified  Christ  from  his  cross  is 

gazing  upon  you ! 
See  !  in  those  sorrowful  eyes  what  meekness  and 

holy  compassion  ! 
Hark !  how  those  lips  still  repeat  the  prayer,  '  O 

Father,  forgive  them  ! ' 
Let  us  repeat  that  prayer  in  the  hour  when  the 

wicked  assail  us. 
Let  us  repeat  it  now,  and  say,  '  O  Father,  forgive 

them ! '  " 
Few  were  his  words  of  rebuke,  but  deep  in  the 

hearts  of  his  people 
Sank  they,  and  sobs  of  contrition  succeeded  the 

passionate  outbreak. 
While  they  repeated  his  prayer,  and  said,  "O 

Father,  forgive  them  !  " 

Then  came  the  evening  service.     The  tapers 

gleamed  from  the  altar. 
Fervent  and  deep  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and 

the  peo])le  responded, 
Not  with  their  lips  alone,  but  their  hearts  ;  and 

the  Ave  Maria 
Sang  they,  and  foil  on  their  knees,  and  their  souls, 

witli  devotion  translated, 
Rose  on  the  ardor  of  prayer,  like  Elijah  ascending 

to  heaven. 

Meanwhile  had  spread  in  the  village  the  tidings 
of  ill,  and  on  all  sides 


EVANGELINE.  37 

Wandered,  wailing,  from  house  to  house  the 
womeu  aud  children. 

Long  at  her  lather's  door  Evangeline  stood,  with 
her  right  hand 

Shielding  her  eyes  from  the  level  rays  of  the  sun, 
that,  descending, 

Lighted  the  village  street  with  mysterious  splen- 
dor, and  roofed  each 

Peasant's  cottage  with  golden  thatch,  and  embla- 
zoned its  windows. 

Long  within  had  been  spread  the  snow-white  cloth 
on  the  table ; 

There  stood  the  wheaten  loaf,  and  the  honey  fra- 
grant with  wild-flowers ; 

Tliere  stood  the  tankard  of  ale,  and  the  cheese 
fresh  brought  from  the  dairy ; 

And,  at  the  head  of  the  board,  the  great  arm-chair 
of  the  farmer. 

Thus  did  Evangeline  wait  at  her  father's  door,  as 
the  sunset 

Threw  the  long  shadows  of  trees  o'er  the  broad 
ambrosial  meadows. 

Ah !  on  her  spirit  within  a  deeper  shadow  had 
fallen. 

And  from  the  fields  of  her  soul  a  fragrance  celes- 
tial ascended,  — 

Charity,  meekness,  love,  and  hope,  and  forgive- 
ness, and  patience ! 

Then,  all-forgetful  of  self,  she  wandered  into  the 
village, 

Cheering  with  looks  and  words  the  moamfol 
hearts  of  the  women. 

As  o'er  the  darkening  fields  with  Ungering  steps 
they  departed. 


iJ8  K  VANG  KLINE. 

Urged  by  their  household  cares,  and  the  weary 

feet  of  their  chiidrcu. 
Down  sank  the  great  red  sun,  and  in  golden, 

glimmering  vapors 
Veiled  the  liglit  of  his  face,  like  the  Prophet  de- 

scendnig  from  Sinai. 
Sweetly  over  tiie  village  the  bell  of  the  Angelus 

sounded. 

Meanwhile,  amid  the  gloom,  by  the  church 

Evangeline  lingered. 
All  was  silent  within ;  and  in  vain  at  the  door  and 

the  windows 
Stood  she,  and  listened  and  looked,  till,  overcome 

by  emotion, 
"  Gabriel !  "  cried  slie  aloud  with  tremulous  voice ; 

but  no  answer 
Came  from  tlie  graves  of  the  dead,  nor  the  gloomier 

grave  of  the  livhig. 
Slowly  at  length  she  returned  to  the  tenantless 

house  of  her  father. 
Smouldered  the  fire  on  the  hearth,  on  the  board 

was  tlie  supper  untasted. 
Empty  and  drear  was  each  room,  and  haunted 

with  pliantoms  of  terror. 
Sadly  echoed  her  step  on  the  stair  and  the  floor 

of  her  chamber. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  she  heard  the  disconsolate 

rain  fall 
Loud  on  the  withered  leaves  of  the  sycamore-tree 

by  the  window. 
Keenly  the  lightning  flashed ;  and  the  voice  of  the 

echoing  thunder 
Told  her  that  God  was  in  heaven,  and  governed 

the  world  he  created  ! 


EVANGELIXE.  39 

Then  she  remenibeiTd  the  tale  she  had  heard  of 

the  justice  of  Heaven ; 
Soothed  was  her  troubled  soul,  aud  she  peacefully 

slumbered  till  moruinj;. 


Four  times  the  suu  had  risen  and  set ;  and  now 

on  tlie  tilth  day 
Cheerily  called  the  cock  to  the  sleeping  maids  of 

the  farm-liouse. 
Soon  o'er  the  yellow  tields,  in  silent  and  mournful 

procession. 
Came  from  the  neighboring  hamlets  and  farms 

the  Acadian  women, 
Driving  in  ponderous  wains  their  household  goods 

to  the  sea-shore, 
Pausmg  and  looking  back  to  gaze  once  more  on 

their  dwellings. 
Ere  they  were  shut  from  sight  by  the  winding 

road  aud  the  woodland. 
Close  at  their  sides  their  cliildren  ran,  and  urged 

on  the  oxen. 
While  in  their  little  hands  they  clasped  some  frag- 
ments of  playthings. 

Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  they  hurried ; 

and  there  on  the  sea-beach 
Piled  in  confusion  lay  the  household  goods  of  the 

peasants. 
All  day  long  between  the  shore  and  the  ships  did 

the  boats  ply ; 
All  day  long  the  wains  came  laboring  down  from 

the  village. 


4U  EVANGELINE. 

Late  in  tlie  afternoon,  when  the  sun  was  near  to 
liis  setting, 

Echoed  far  o'er  the  fields  came  the  roll  of  drums 
from  the  churchyard. 

Thither  the  women  and  children  thronged.  On  a 
sudden  the  church-doors 

Opened,  and  forth  came  the  guard,  and  marching 
in  gloomy  procession 

Followed  the  long-imprisoned,  but  patient,  Aca- 
dian farmers. 

Even  as  pilgrims,  who  journey  afar  from  their 
homes  and  their  country, 

Sing  as  they  go,  and  in  singing  forget  they  are 
weary  and  wayworn. 

So  with  songs  on  their  lips  the  Acadian  peasants 
descended 

Down  from  the  church  to  the  shore,  amid  their 
wives  and  their  daughters. 

Foremost  the  young  men  came  ;  and,  raising  to- 
gether their  voices. 

Sang  with  tremulous  lips  a  chant  of  the  Catholic 
Missions :  — 

"  Sacred  heart  of  the  Saviour  !  O  inexhaustible 
fountain ! 

Fill  our  hearts  this  day  with  strength  and  submis- 
sion and  patience ! " 

Then  the  old  men,  as  they  marched,  and  the 
women  that  stood  by  the  wayside, 

Joined  in  the  sacred  psalm,  and  the  birds  in  the 
sunshine  above  tliem 

Mingled  their  notes  therewith,  like  voices  of  spirits 
departed. 

Half-way  down  to  the  shore  Evangeline  waited 
in  silence. 


l^'Kotc 


EVANGELINE.  41 


Not  overcome  with  grief,  but  strong  in  the  hour 

of  affliction,  — 
Calmly  and  sadly  slie  waited,  until  the  procession 

approached  her, 
And  she  beheld  the  face  of  Gabriel  pale  with 

emotion. 
Tears  then  filled  her  eyes,  and,  eagerly  running 

to  meet  him. 
Clasped  she  his  liands,  and  laid  her  head  on  his 

shoulder,  and  whispered,  — 
"  Gabriel !  be  of  good  cheer !  for  if  we  love  one 

another 
Nothing,  in  truth,  can  harm  us,  whatever  mis- 
chances may  happen ! " 
Smiling  she  spake  these  words;  then  suddenly 

paused,  for  lier  father 
Saw  she  slowly  advancing.     Alas  !  how  changed 

was  his  aspect ! 
Gone  was  the  glow  from  his  cheek,  and  the  fire 

from  his  eye,  and  his  footstep 
Heavier  seemed  with  the  weight  of  the  heavy 

heart  in  his  bosom. 
But  with  a  smile  and  a  sigh,  she  clasped  his  neck 

and  embraced  him, 
Speaking  words  of  endearment  where  words  of 

comfort  availed  not. 
Thus  to  the  Gaspereau's  mouth  moved  on  that 

mournful  procession. 

There  disorder  prevailed,  and  the  tumult  and 
stir  of  embarking. 

Busily  plied  the  freighted  boats ;  and  in  the  con- 
fusion 

Wives  were  torn  from  their  husbands,  and  moth- 
ers, too  late,  saw  their  children 


42  EVANGELINE. 

Left  on  the  land,  extending  tlieir  arms,  with 

wildest  eiUreaties. 
So  unto  separate  ships  were  Basil  and  GahricI 

carried, 
While  in  despair  on  the  shore  Evangeline  stood 

with  her  father. 
Half  the  task  was  not  done  when  the  sun  went. 

down,  and  the  twiliglit 
Deepened  and  darkened  around ;  and  in  haste  the 

refluent  ocean 
Pled  away  from  the  shore,  and  left  the  line  of  the 

sand-beach 
Covered  with  waifs  of  the  tide,  with  kelp  and  the 

sli])pery  sea-weed. 
Farther  back  in  the  midst  of  the  household  goods 

and  tlie  wagons. 
Like   to  a   gvpsy   camp,  or  a  leaguer  after  a 

battle,' 
All  escape  cut  off  by  the  sea,  and  the  sentinels 

near  tliem. 
Lay  encamped  for  the  night  the  houseless  Acadian 

farmers. 
Back  to  its  nethermost  caves  retreated  the  bel- 
lowing ocean. 
Dragging  adown  the  beach  the  rattling  pebbles, 

and  leaving 
Liland  and  far  up  the  shore  the  stranded  boats 

of  the  snilors. 
Then,  at  tiie  nigiit  descended,  the  herds  returned 

from  their  pastures; 
Sweet  was  *he  moist  still  air  with  the  odor  of 

milk  from  their  udders; 
Lowing  they  waited,  and  long,  at  the  well-known 

bars  of  the  farm-yard,  — 


^^M  Waited  arn 


EVANGELINE.  43 


Waited  and  looked  in  vain  for  the  voice  and  the 

hand  of  tiie  milkmaid. 
Silence  reigned  in  the  streets ;  from  the  church 

no  Augelus  sounded. 
Rose  no  smoke  from  the  roofs,  and  gleamed  no 

lights  from  the  windows. 

But  on  the  shores  meanwhile  the  evening  fires 

had  been  kindled. 
Built  of  the  drift-wood  thrown  on  the  sands  from 

wrecks  in  the  tempest. 
Round  them  sliapes  of  gloom  and  sorrowful  faces 

were  gathered. 
Voices  of  women  were  heard,  and  of  men,  and  the 

crying  of  children. 
Onward  from  fire  to  fire,  as  from  hearth  to  hearth 

in  his  parish. 
Wandered  the  faithful  priest,  consoling  and  bless- 
ing and  cheering. 
Like  unto  shipwrecked  Paul  on  Melita's  desolate 

sea-shore. 
Thus  he  approached  the  place  where  Evangeline 

sat  with  her  father. 
And  in  the  flickering  light  beheld  the  face  of  the 

old  man. 
Haggard  and  hollow  and  wan,  and  without  either 

thought  or  emotion. 
E'en  as  the  face  of  a  clock  from  which  the  hands 

have  been  taken. 
Vainly  Evangeline  strove  with  words  and  caresses 

to  cheer  him, 
Vainly  offered  him  food ;  yet  he  moved  not,  he 

looked  not,  he  spake  not. 
But,  with  a  vacant  stare,  ever  gazed  at  the  flick- 
ering firelight. 


44  EVANGELINE. 

"  Benedicite  ! '"  murmured  the  priest,  in  tones 

of  compassion. 
More  lie  fain  would  have  said,  but  his  heart  was 

full,  and  his  accents 
Faltered  and  paused  on  his  lips,  as  the  feet  of  a 

child  on  a  threshold, 
Hushed  by  the  scene  he  beholds,  and  the  awful 

presence  of  sorrow. 
Silently,  therefore,  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  head 

of  the  maiden. 
Raising  his  tearful  eyes  to  the  silent  stars  that 

above  them 
Moved  on  their  way,  unperturbed  by  the  wrongs 

and  sorrows  of  mortals. 
Then  sat  he  down  at  her  side,  and  they  wept  to- 
gether in  silence. 

Suddenly  rose  from  the  south  a  light,  as  in 

autumn  the  blood-red 
Moon  climbs  tlie  crystal  walls  of  heaven,  and  o'er 

the  horizon 
Titan-like   stretches   its    hundred    hands    upon 

mountain  and  meadow, 
Seizing  the  rocks  and  the  rivers,  and  piling  huge 

shadows  together. 
Broader  and  ever  broader  it  gleamed  on  the  roofs 

of  tlie  village. 
Gleamed  on  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  ships 

tliat  lay  in  tlie  roadstead. 
Columns  of  shining  smoke  uprose,  and  flashes  of 

flame  were 
Thrust  through  their  folds  and  withdrawn,  like 

the  quivering  hands  of  a  martyr. 
Then  as  the  wind  seized  the  gleeds  and  the  burn- 
ing thatch,  and,  uplifting, 


EVANGELINE.  45 

Thirled  them  aloft  through  the  air,  at  once  from 

a  hundred  house-tops 
Started  the  sheeted  smoke  with  flashes  of  flame 
intermiugled. 

These  things  beheld  in  dismay  the  crowd  on 
the  shore  and  on  shipboard. 

Speechless  at  first  they  stood,  then  cried  aloud  in 
their  anguish, 

"  We  shall  behold  no  more  our  homes  in  the  vil- 
lage of  Graud-Pre ! " 

Loud  on  a  sudden  the  cocks  began  to  orow  in  the 
farm-yards. 

Thinking  tiie  day  had  dawned ;  and  anon  the  low- 
ing of  cattle 

Came  on  the  evenhig  breeze,  by  the  barking  of 
dogs  interniptcd. 

Then  rose  a  sound  of  dread,  such  as  startles  the 
sleeping  encampments 

Far  in  the  western  prairies  or  forests  that  skirt 
the  Nebraska, 

When  the  wild  horses  affrighted  sweep  by  with 
the  speed  of  the  whirlwind, 

Or  the  loud  bellowing  herds  of  buffaloes  rush  to 
the  river. 

Such  was  the  sound  that  arose  on  the  night,  as 
the  herds  and  the  horses 

Broke  through  their  folds  and  fences,  and  madly 
rushed  o'er  the  meadows. 

Overwhelmed  with  the  sight,  yet  speechless, 
the  priest  and  the  maiden 
Gazed  on  the  scene  of  terror  that  reddened  and 
widened  before  them  ; 


46  EVANGELINE. 

And  as  they  turned  at  length  to  speak  to  their 

silent  companion, 
Lo !  from  his  seat  he  had  fallen,  and  stretched 

abroad  on  the  sea-shore 
Motionless  lay  his  form,  from  which  the  soul  had 

departed. 
Slowly  the  priest  uplifted  the  lifeless  head,  and 

the  maiden 
Knelt  at  her  father's  side,  and  wailed  aloud  in 

her  terror. 
Then  in  a  swoon  she  sank,  and  lay  with  her  head 

on  liis  bosom. 
Through  tlie  long  night  she  lay  ui  deep,  oblivious 

slumber ; 
And  when  slie  woke  from  the  trance,  she  beheld 

a  multitude  near  lier. 
Faces  of  friends  she  beheld,  that  were  mournfully 

gazing  upon  her. 
Pallid,  with  tearful  eyes,  and  looks  of  saddest  com- 
passion. 
Still  the  blaze  of  the  burning  village  illumined 

the  landscape. 
Reddened  the  sky  overhead,  and  gleamed  on  the 

faces  around  her. 
And  like  the  day  of  doom  it  seemed  to  licr  waver- 
ing senses. 
Then  a  familiar  voice  she  heard,  as  it  said  to  the 

peojile,  — 
"  Let  us  bury  him  here  by  the  sea.     When  a 

happier  season 
Brings  us  again  to  our  homes  from  the  unknown 

land  of  our  exile, 
"Then  sliall  his  sacred  dust  be  piously  laid  iu  the 

churchvard." 


EVAXGELIXE.  47 

Such  were  the  words  of  the  priest.  And  there 
ill  haste  bj  the  seaside. 

Having  the  glare  of  the  burning  village  for  fu- 
neral torches, 

But  without  bell  or  book,  they  buried  the  farmer 
of  Grand-Pre. 

And  as  the  voice  of  the  priest  repeated  the  ser- 
vice of  sorrow, 

Lo  !  with  a  mournful  sound,  like  the  voice  of  a 
vast  congregation, 

Solemnly  answered  the  sea,  and  mingled  its  roar 
with  the  dirges. 

'T  was  the  returning  tide,  that  afar  from  the  waste 
of  the  ocean. 

With  the  first  dawn  of  the  day,  came  heaving  and 
hurrying  landward. 

Then  recommenced  once  more  the  stir  and  noise 
of  embarking ; 

And  with  the  ebb  of  the  tide  the  ships  sailed  out 
of  the  harbor, 

Leaving  behind  them  the  dead  on  the  shore,  and 
the  village  in  ruins. 


«esYeS?» 


PAK.T  THE  SECOND. 


A.NY  a  weary  year  liad  passed  since  the 

burning  of  Grand-Pre, 
When  on  the  falling  tide  the  freighted 
vessels  departed, 

Bearing  a  nation,  with  all  its  household  gods,  into 
exile. 

Exile  without  an  end,  and  without  an  example  in 
story. 

Far  asunder,  on  separate  coasts,  the  Acadiaus 
landed ; 

Scattered  were  they,  like  flakes  of  snow,  when 
the  wind  from  the  northeast 

Strikes  aslant  through  the  fogs  that  darken  the 
Banks  of  Newfoundland. 

Friendless,   homeless,   hopeless,   they  wandered 
from  city  to  city, 

Prom  the  cold  lakes  of  the  North  to  sultry  South- 
ern savannas,  — 

From  the  bleak  shores  of  the  sea  to  the  lands 
where  the  Father  of  Waters 

Seizes  the  liills  in  his  hands,  and  drags  them 
down  to  the  ocean, 

Deep  in  their  sands  to  bury  the  scattered  bones 
of  the  mammoth.  . 

Friends  they. sought  and  homes ;  and  many,  de- 
spairing, heart-broken. 


EVANGELIXE.  49 

A.sked  of  tlie  earth  but  a  grave,  and  no  longer  a 

friend  nor  a  fireside. 
Written  their  history  stands  on  tablets  of  stone 

in  the  chiirch3'ards. 
Long  among  them  was  seen  a  maiden  who  waited 

and  wandered. 
Lowly  and  meek  in  spirit,  and  patiently  suffering 

all  t lungs. 
Fair  was  slie  and  young ;  but,  alas  !  before  her 

extended, 
Dreary  and  vast  and  silent,  the  desert  of  life,  with 

its  pathway 
Marked  by  the  graves  of  those  who  had  sorrowed 

and  suffered  before  her. 
Passions  long  extinguished,  and  hopes  long  dead 

and  abandoned, 
As  the  emigrant's  way  o'er  the  Western  desert  is 

marked  by 
Camp-fires  long  consumed,  and  bones  that  bleach 

in  the  sunshine. 
Something  tliere  was  in  her  life  incomplete,  im- 
perfect, unfinished ; 
As  if  a  morning  of  June,  with  all  its  music  and 

sunshine. 
Suddenly  paused  in  the  sky,  and,  fading,  slowly 

descended 
Into   the  east  again,  from  whence  it  late   had 

arisen. 
Sometimes  slie  lingered  in  towns,  till,  urged  by 

the  fever  witliin  her. 
Urged  by  a  restless  longing,  the  hunger  and  thirst 

of  the  spirit. 
She  would  commence  again  her  endless  search 

and  endeavor ; 


50  EVANGELINE, 

Sometimes  iu  churcliyards  strayed,  and  gazed  on 

the  crosses  and  tombstones, 
Sat  by  some  nameless  grave,  and  thouglit  that 

perhaps  in  its  bosom 
He  was  already  at  rest,  and  she  longed  to  slumber 

beside  him. 
Sometimes  a  rumor,  a  hearsay,  an  inarticulate 

whisper, 
Came  with  its  airy  hand  to  point  and  beckon  hei 

forward. 
Sometimes  she  spake  with  those  wbo  bad  seen  her 

beloved  and  known  him, 
But  it  was  long  ago,  in  some  far-off  place  or  for- 
gotten. 
"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  !  "  they  said  ;  "  0  yes  !  wc 

have  seen  him. 
He  was  with  Basil  the  blacksmith,  and  both  have 

.  gone  to  the  prairies ; 
Coureurs-des-Bois  are  they,  and  famous  hunters 

and  trappers." 
"  Gabriel  Lajeunesse  ! "  said  others ;  "  O  yes  !  avc 

have  seen  him. 
He  is  a  Voyageur  in  the  lowlands   of  Louisi- 
ana." 
Then  would  they  say,  "  Dear  child  !  why  {lr;~am 

and  wait  for  him  longer  ? 
Are  there  not  other  youths  as  fair  as  G  '    icl? 

others 
Who  have  hearts  as  tender  and  true,  and  spirits 

as  loyal  ? 
Here  is  Baptiste  Leblanc,  the  notary's  son,  who 

has  loved  thee 
Many  a  tedious  year ;  come,  give  him  thy  hand 

and  be  happy ! 


EVANGELINE.  ;.\ 

Thou  art  too  fair  to  be  left  to  braid  St.  CatLc 

riiie's  tresses." 
Then  would  Evangeline  answer,  sei-euely   but 

sadly,  "  I  cannot ! 
Whither  n\y  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my 

hand,  and  not  elsewhere. 
For  when  tlie  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamp,  and 

illumines  the  pathway. 
Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hiddeii 

in  darkness." 
Thereupon  the  priest,  her  friend  and  father-con- 
fessor. 
Said,  with  a  smile,  "O  daughter!  thy  God  thus 

speaketh  M'ithin  thee ! 
Talk  not  of  wasted  affection,  affection  never  was 

wasted ; 
If  it  enrich  not  tlie  heart  of  another,  its  waters, 

returning 
Back  to  tiieirspruigs,  like  the  rain,  shall  fill  them 

full  of  refreslnnent ; 
That  which  the  fountain  sends  forth  returns  again 

to  the  fountain. 
Patience ;  accomplish  thy  labor  ;  accomplish  thy 

work  of  affection  ! 
Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong,  and  patient  endui-- 

ance  is  godlike. 
Tlicrefore  accomplish  thy  labor  of  love,  till  the 

heart  is  made  godlike,  • 

Purified,  strengthened,  perfected,  and  rendered 

more  worthy  of  heaven  !  " 
Cheered  by  the  good  man's  words,  Evangeline 

labored  and  waited. 
''fill  in  her  heart  she  heard  the  funeral  dirge  oi" 

the  ocean, 


52  EVANGELINE. 

But  with  its  sound  there  was  mingled  a  voice  that 

whispered,  "  Despair  not !  " 
Thus  did  that   poor  soul  wander  in  want  and 

cheerless  discomfort, 
Bleeding,  barefooted,  over  the  shards  and  thorns 

of  existence. 
Let  me  essay,  O  Muse  !  to  follow  the  wanderer's 

footsteps ;  — 
Not  through  each  devious  path,  each  changeful 

year  of  existence ; 
But  as  a  traveller  follows  a  streamlet's  course 

through  the  valley : 
Far  from  its  margin  at  times,  and  seeing  the 

gleam  of  its  water 
Here  and  there,  in  some  open  space,  and  at  in- 
tervals only  ; 
Then  drawing  nearer  its  banks,  through  sylvan 

glooms  that  conceal  it, 
Though  he  behold  it  not,  he  can  hear  its  contiim- 

ous  murmur ; 
Happy,  at  length,  if  he  find  the  spot  where  \t 

reaches  an  outlet. 

II. 

It  was  the  month  of  May.  Tar  down  the  Beau- 
tiful lliver, 

Past  *he  Ohio  shore  and  past  the  mouth  of  the 
Wabash, 

Into  the  golden  stream  of  the  broad  and  swift 
Mississippi, 

Floated  a  cumbrous  boat,  that  was  rowed  by 
Acadian  boatmen. 

It  was  a  band  of  exiles  :  a  raft,  as  it  were,  from 
tlic  siripwrecked 


EVANGELINE.  55 

Nation,  scattered  aloug  the  coast,  now  floating 

together, 
Bound  by  the  bonds  of  a  common  belief  and  a 

common  misfortune  ; 
Men  and  women  and  children,  who,  guided  by 

hope  or  by  hearsay, 
Sought  for  their  kith  and  their  kin  among  the 

few-acred  farmers 
On  the  Acadian  coast,  and  the   prairies  of  fair 

Opelousas. 
With  tliem  Evangeline  went,  and  her  guide,  the 

Father  Felician. 
Onward  o'er  sunken  sands,  through  a  wilderness 

sombre  with  forests. 
Day  after  day  they  glided  adown  the  turbulent 

river ; 
Night  after  night,  by  their  blazing  fires,  encamped 

on  its  Dorders. 
Now    through    rushing    chutes,    among  green 

islands,  where  plunielike 
Cotton-trees  nodded  their  shadowy  crests,  they 

swept  with  the  current, 
Then  emerged  into  broad  lagoons,  where  silvery 

sand-bars 
Lay  in  tlie  stream,  and  along  the  winipling  waves 

of  their  margin, 
Shining  with  snow-white  plumes,  large  flocks  of 

pelicans  waded. 
Level  the  landscape  grew,  and  along  the  shores 

of  the  river, 
Shaded  by  china-trees,  in  the  midst  of  luxuriant 

gardens. 
Stood  the  houses  of  planters,  -with  negro-cabins 

and  dove-cots. 


56  EVANGELINE. 

They  were  approaching  the  region  where  reigns 
perpetual  sumnier, 

Where  through  the  Golden  Coast,  and  groves  of 
orange  and  citron, 

Sweeps  with  majestic  curve  the  river  away  to  the 
eastward. 

They,  too,  swerved  from  their  course  ;  and,  enter- 
ing the  Bayou  of  Phiquemiue, 

Soon  were  lost  in  a  maze  of  skiggish  and  devious 
waters, 

Which,  like  a  network  of  steel,  extended  in  every 
direction. 

Over  their  heads  the  towering  and  tenebrous 
bouglis  of  the  cypress 

Met  in  a  dusky  arch,  and  trailing  mosses  in  mid- 
air 

Waved  like  banners  that  hang  on  the  walls  of 
ancient  cathedrals. . 

Deathlike  the  silence  seemed,  and  unbroken,  save 
by  the  herons 

Home  to  their  roosts  in  the  cedar-trees  returning 
at  sunset. 

Or  by  the  owl,  as  he  greeted  the  moon  with  de- 
moniac laughter. 

Lovely  the  moonlight  was  as  it  glanced  and 
gleamed  on  the  water. 

Gleamed  on  the  columns  of  cypress  and  cedar  sus- 
taining the  arches, 

Down  through  whose  broken  vaults  it  fell  as 
through  chinks  in  a  ruin. 

Dreamlike,  and  indistinct,  and  strange  were  all 
things  around  them  ; 

And  o'er  their  spirits  there  came  a  feeling  of 
wonder  and  sadness,  — 


EVANGELINE.  57 


Strange  forebodings  of  ill,  unseen  and  that  cannot 

be  compassed. 
As,  at  the  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  on  the  turf  of 

the  prairies. 
Far  in  advauce   are   closed   the  leaves   of  the 

shrinking  mimosa, 
So,  at  the  hoof-beats"of  fate,  with  sad  forebodings 

of  evil. 
Shrinks  and  closes  the  heart,  ere  the  stroke  of 

doom  has  attained  it. 
But  Evangeline's  heart  was  sustained  by  a  vision, 

that  faintly 
Floated  before  her  eyes,  and  beckoned  her  on 

through  tlie  moonlight. 
It  was  the  thought  of  her  brain  that  assumed  the 

shape  of  a  phantom. 
Througli  tliose  shadowy  aisles  had  Gabriel  wan- 
dered before  her. 
And  every  stroke  of  the  oar  now  brought  him 

nearer  and  nearer. 

Then  in  his  place,  at  the  prow  of  the  boat, 

rose  one  of  the  oarsmen. 
And,  as  a  signal  sound,  if  others  like  them  per- 

ad venture 
Sailed  on  those  gloomy  and  midnight  streams, 

blew  a  blast  on  his  bugle. 
Wild  through  the  d:u-k  colonnades  and  comdors 

leafy  the  blast  rang, 
Breaking  tlie  seal  of  silence,  and  giving  tongues 

to  the  forest. 
Soundless  above  them  the  banners  of  moss  just 

stirred  to  the  music. 
Multitudinous  echoes  awoke  and  died  in  the  dis- 

tflllC?, 


58  EVANGELINE. 

Over  tlie  watery  floor,  and  beneath  the  reverber- 
ant brandies ; 

But  not  a  voice  replied ;  no  answer  came  fronf. 
the  darkness ; 

And,  when  the  echoes  had  ceased,  Uke  a  sense  of 
pain  was  the  silence. 

Then  Evangeline  slept ;  but  the  boatmen  rowed 
through  the  midnight. 

Silent  at  times,  then  singing  familiar  Canadian 
boat-songs. 

Such  as  tliey  sang  of  old  on  their  own  Acadian 
rivers. 

While  through  the  night  were  heard  the  mysteri- 
ous sounds  of  the  desert. 

Far  off,  —  indistinct,  —  as  of  wave  or  wind  iji. 
the  forest. 

Mixed  with  the  whoop  of  the  crane  and  the  roar 
of  the  grim  alligator. 

Thus  ere  another  noon  they  emerged  from  the 
shades ;  and  before  them 

Lay,  in  the  golden  sun,  the  lakes  of  the  Atchafii- 
laya.  _ 

Water-lilies  in  myriads  rocked  ou  the  slight  un- 
dulations 

Made  by  the  passing  oars,  and,  resplendent  in 
beauty,  the  lotus 

Lifted  her  golden  crown  above  the  beads  of  the 
boatmen. 

Faint  was  the  air  with  the  odorous  breath  of 
magnolia  blossoms. 

And  with  the  heat  of  noon ;  and  numberless  syl- 
van islands. 

Fragrant  and  thickly  embowered  with  blossom- 
ing licdgos  of  ros"s, 


EVANGELINE.  59 

Near  to  whose  shores  they  glided  along,  invited 
to  slumber. 

Soon  by  the  fairest  of  these  their  weary  oars 
were  suspended. 

Under  the  boughs  of  Wachita  willows,  that  grew 
by  the  margin, 

Safely  their  boat  was  moored;  and  scattered 
about  on  the  greensward, 

Tired  with  their  inidnight  toil,  the  weary  trav- 
ellers slumbered. 

Over  them  vast  and  high  extended  the  cope  of  a 
cedar. 

Swinging  from  its  great  arms,  the  trumpet-flower 
and  the  grape-vine 

Hung  their  ladder  of  ropes  aloft  like  the  ladder 
of  Jacob, 

On  whose  pendulous  stairs  the  angels  ascending, 
descending, 

Were  the  swift  humming-birds,  that  flitted  from 
blossom  to  blossom. 

Such  was  the  vision  Evangeline  saw  as  she  slum- 
bered beneath  it. 

Filled  was  her  heart  with  love,  and  the  dawn  of 
an  opening  heaven 

Lighted  her  soul  in  sleep  with  the  glory  of  re- 
gions celestial. 

Nearer,  ever  nearer,  among  the  numberless 
islands, 

Darted  a  light,  swift  boat,  that  sped  away  o'er 
the  water. 

Urged  on  its  course  by  the  sinewy  arms  of  hunt- 
ers and  trappers. 

Northward  its  prow  was  turned,  to  the  land  of 
the  bison  and  beaver. 


-A 


60  EVANGELINE. 

At  (he   helm   sat  a    youtli,   with  countenance 

tliouglitfiil  and  careworn. 
Dark  and  neglected  locks  overshadowed  his  brow, 

and  a  sadness 
Somewhat  beyond  his  years   on  his  face  was 

legibly  written. 
Gabriel   was   it,  who,  weary  with  waiting,  un- 
happy and  restless, 
Sought  in  the  Western  wilds  oblivion  of  self  and 

of  sorrow. 
Swiftly  they  glided  along,  close  under  the  lee  of 

the  island. 
But  by  the  opposite  bank,  and  behind  a  screen 

of  palmettos, 
So  that  they  saw  not  the  boat,  where  it  lay  con- 

cealed  in  the  willows, 
All  undisturbed  by  the  dasii  of  their  oars,  and 

unseen,  were  the  sleepers, 
Angel  of  God   was  there  none  to  awaken  the 

slumbering  maiden. 
Swiftly  tliey  glided  away,  like  the  shade   of  a 

cloud  on  the  prairie. 
■  After  the  sound  of  their  oars  on  the  tholes  had 

died  in  the  distance. 
As  from  a  magic  trance  the  sleepers  awoke,  and 

the  maiden 
Said  with  a  sigh  to  the  friendly  priest,  "  O  Father 

Felician ! 
Something  says  in  my  heart  that  near  me  Gabriel 

wanders. 
Is  it  a  foolish  dream,  an  idle  and  vague  supersti- 
tion ? 
Or  has  an  angel  passed,  and  revealed  the  truth 

to  my  spirit?" 


EVANGELINE.  61 

Tlien,  with  a  blush,  she  added,  "Alas  for  my 

credulous  fancy ! 
Unto  ears  like  thine  such  words  as  these  have  no 

nieamng." 
But  made  answer  the  reverend  man,  and  he  smiled 

as  lie  answered,  — 
"  Daughter,  thy  words  are  not  idle ;  nor  are  they 

to  me  without  meaning. 
Feehng  is  deep  and  still;  and  the   word  that 

floats  on  the  surface 
Is  as  the  ♦ossing  buoy,  that  betrays  where  the 

anchor  is  hidden. 
Therefore  trust  to  thy  heart,  and  to  what  the 

world  calls  illusions. 
Gabi'iel  truly  is  near  thee;  for  not  far  away  to 

tlic  southward, 
On  the  banks  of  the  Teche,  are  the  towns  of  St. 

Maur  and  St.  Martin. 
There  the  long-wandering  bride  shall  be  given 

again  to  her  bridegroom, 
There  tlie  long-absent  pastor  regain  his  flock  and 

his  slieepfold. 
Beautiful  is  the  land,  with  its  prairies  and  forests 

of  fruit-trees ; 
Under  the  feet  a  garden  of  flowers,  and  the  bluest 

of  heavens 
Bending  above,  and  resting  its  dome  on  the  walls 

of  the  forest. 
They  who  dwell  there  have  named  it  the  Eden 

of  Louisiana." 

With  these  words  of  cheer  they  arose  and  con- 
tinued their  journey. 
Softly  the   evening  came.     The   sun   from   the 
western  horizon 


63  EVANGELINE. 

Like  a  magician  extended  Ids  golden  ■wand  o'er 

the  laiidsca})e ; 
Twinkling  vapors  arose  ;  and  sky  and  water  and 

forest 
Seemed  all  on  fire  at  the  tonch,  and  melted  and 

mingled  together. 
Hanging  between  two  skies,  a  clond  with  edges 

of  silver, 
Floated  tlie  boat,  with  its  dripping  oars,  on  the 

motioidess  water. 
Filled  was  Evangeline's  heart  with  inexpressible 

sweetness. 
Touclied  by  the  magic  spell,  the  sacred  fountains 

of  feeling 
Glowed  witli  tlie  light  of  love,  as  the  skies  and 

waters  around  her. 
Then  from  a  neighboring  thicket  the  mocking- 
bird, wildest  of  singers, 
Swinging  aloft  on  a  willow  spray  that  hung  o'er 

the  water, 
Shook  from  liis  little  throat  such  floods  of  delirious 

music, 
That  the  whole  air  and  the  woods  and  the  waves 

seemed  silent  to  listen. 
Plaintive  at  first  were  the  tones  and  sad;  then 

soaring  to  madness 
Seemed  they  to  follow  or  guide  the  revel  of  fren- 
zied Bacchantes. 
Single  notes  were  tiien  heard,  in  sorrowful,  low 

lamentation ; 
Till,  having  gathered   them  all,  he  flung  them 

abroad  in  derision. 
As  when,  after  a  storm,  a  gust  of  wind  through 

the  tree-tops 


EVANGELINE.  63 

Shakes  down  the  rattling  rain  in  a  crystal  shower 
on  the  branches. 

With  such  a  prelude  as  this,  and  hearts  that 
throbbed  with  emotion, 

Slowly  they  entered  the  Teche,  where  it  flows 
through  the  green  Opelousas, 

And,  through  the  amber  air,  above  the  crest  of 
the  woodland. 

Saw  the  column  of  smoke  that  arose  from  a  neigh- 
boring dwelling ;  — 

Sounds  of  a  horn  they  heard,  and  the  distant 
lowing  of  cattle. 

III. 

Neae  to  the  bank  of  the  river,  o'ershadowed  by 
oaks,  from  whose  branches 

Garlands  of  Spanish  moss  and  of  mystic  mistletoe 
flaunted, 

Such  as  the  Druids  cut  down  with  golden  hatch- 
ets at  Yule-tide, 

Stood,  secluded  and  stiU,  the  house  of  the  herds- 
man.    A  garden 

Girded  it  round  about  with  a  belt  of  luxuriant 
blossoms. 

Filling  the  air  with  fragrance.  The  house  itself 
was  of  timbers 

Hewn  from  the  cypress-tree,  and  carefully  fitted 
together. 

Large  and  low  was  the  roof;  and  on  slender 
columns  supported, 

Rose-wreathed,  vine-encircled,  a  broad  and  spa- 
cious veranda. 

Haunt  of  the  humming-bird  and  the  bee,  extended 
around  it. 


64  EVANGELINE. 

At  each  end  of  the  house,  amid  the  flowers  of  the 

garden. 
Stationed  the  dove-cots  were,  as  love's  perpetual 

symbol, 
Scenes  of  endless  wooing,  and  endless  contentious 

of  rivals. 
Silence  reigned  o'er  the  place.  The  line  of  shadow 

aud  suushiue 
Ran  near  the  tops  of  the  trees;  but  the  house 

itself  was  iu  shadow. 
And  from  its  chimney-top,  ascending  and  slowly 

expanding 
Into  the  evening  air,  a  thin  blue  column  of  smoke 

rose. 
In  the  rear  of  the  house,  from  the  garden  gate, 

ran  a  pathway 
Through  the  great  groves  of  oak  to  the  skirts  of 

the  limitless  prairie. 
Into  whose  sea  of  flowers  the  sun  was  slowly 

descending. 
Full  in  his  track  of  hght,  like  ships  with  shadowy 

canvas 
Hanging  loose  from  their  spars  in  a  motionless 

calm  in  the  tropics, 
Stood  a  cluster  of  trees,  with  tangled  cordage  of 

grape-vines. 

Just  where  the  woodlands  met  the  flowery  surf 

of  the  prairie. 
Mounted  upon  his  horse,  with  Spanish  saddle  aud 

stirrups, 
Sat  a  herdsman,  arrayed  in  gaiters  and  doublet  of 

deerskin. 
Broad  and  brown  was  the  face  that  from  under 

the  Spanish  sombrero 


EVANGELINE.  65 

Gazed  on  the  peaceful  scene,  with  the  lordly  look 

of  its  master. 
Round  about  him  were  numberless  herds  of  kine, 

that  were  grazing 
Quietly  in  the  meadows,  and  breathing  the  va- 
pory freshness 
That  uprose  from  the  river,  and  spread  itself  over 

the  landscape. 
Slowly  lifting  the  horn  that  hung  at  his  side,  and 

expanding 
Fully  his  broad,  deep  chest,  he  blew  a  blast,  that 

resounded 
Wildly  and  sweet  and  far,  through  the  still  damp 

air  of  the  evening. 
Suddenly  out  of  the  grass  the  long  white  horns 

of  the  cattle 
Rose  like  flakes  of  foam  on  the  adverse  currents 

of  ocean. 
Silent   a  moment  they  gazed,  then  bellowing 

rushed  o'er  the  prairie, 
And  the  whole  mass  became  a  cloud,  a  shade  in 

the  distance. 
Then,  as  the   herdsman  turned  to  the  house, 

through  the  gate  of  the  garden 
Saw  he  the  forms  of  the  priest  and  the  maiden 

advancing  to  meet  him. 
Suddenly  down  from   his   horse   he  sprang  in 

amazement,  and  forward 
Rushed  with  extended  arms  and  exclamations  of 

wonder ;     . 
When  they  beheld  his  face,  they  recognized  Basil 

the  blacksmith. 
Hearty  his  welcome  was,  as  he  led  his  guests  to 

the  garden. 


66  EVANGELINE. 

There  in  an  arbor  of  roses  vrith  endless  question 

and  answer 
Gave  they  vent  to  their  hearts,  and  renewed  their 

friendly  embraces, 
Laughing  and  weeping  by  turns,  or  sitting  silent 

and  thoughtful. 
Thoughtful,  for  Gabriel  came  not ;  and  now  dark 

doubts  and  misgivings 
Stole  o'er  the  maiden's  heart ;  and  Basil,  some- 
what embarrassed, 
Broke  the  silence  and  said,  "  If  you  came  by  the 

Atchafalaya, 
How  have  you  nowhere  encountered  my  Gabriel's 

boat  on  the  bayous  ?  " 
Over  Evangeline's  face  at  the  words  of  Basil  a 

shade  passed. 
Tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  she  said,  with  a 

tremulous  accent, 
"  Gone  ?  is  Gabriel  gone  ?  "  and,  concealing  her 

face  on  his  shoulder, 
All  her  o'erburdcned  heart  gave  way,  and  she 

wept  and  lamented. 
Then  the  good  Basil  said,  —  and  his  voice  grew 

blithe  as  he  said  it,  — 
"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  child ;  it  is  only  to-day 

he  departed. 
Foolish  boy  !  he  has  left  me  alone  with  my  herds 

and  my  horses. 
Moody  and  restless  grown,  and  tried  and  troubled, 

his  spirit 
Could  no  longer  endure  the  calm  of  this  quiet 

existence. 
Thinking  ever  of  thee,  uncertain  and  sorrowful 

ever, 


EVANGELINE.  67 

Ever  silent,  or  speaking  only  of  thee  and  liis 

troubles, 
He  at  lengtli  had  become  so  tedious  to  men  and 

to  maidens. 
Tedious  even  to  me,  tliat  at  length  I  bethought 

me,  and  sent  him 
Unto  the  town  of  Adayes  to  trade  for  mules  vrith 

the  Spaniards. 
Thence  he  -will  follow  the  Indian  trails  to  the 

Ozark  Mountains, 
Hunting  for  furs  in  the  forests,  on  rivers  trapping 

the  beaver. 
Therefore  be  of  good  cheer;  we  will  follow  the 

fugitive  lover ; 
He  is  not  far  on  his  way,  and  the  Fates  and  the 

streams  are  against  him. 
Up  and  away  to-moiTow,  and  through  the  red 

djw  of  the  moniing 
We  will  follow  him  fast,  and  bring  him  back  to 

his  prison." 

Then  glad  voices  were  heard,  and  up  from  the 

banks  of  the  river. 
Borne  aloft  on  his  comi-ades'  arms,  came  Michael 

tlie  fiddler. 
Long  under  Basil's  roof  had  he  lived  like  a  god 

on  Olympus, 
Having  no  other  care  than  dispensing  music  to 

mortals. 
Far  renowned  was  he  for  his  silver  locks  and  his 

fiddle. 
"  Long  live  Michael,"  they  cried,  "  our  brave 

Acadian  muistrel ! " 
As  they  bore  him  aloft  in  triumphal  procession; 

and  straightway 


68  EVANGELINE. 

Father  Felician  advanced  with  Evangeline,  greet- 
ing the  old  man 

Kindly  and  oft,  and  recalling  the  past,  while 
Basil,  enraptured, 

Hailed  with  hilarious  joy  his  old  companions  and 
gossips, 

Laughing  loud  and  long,  and  embracing  moth- 
ers and  daughters. 

Much  they  marvelled  to  see  the  wealth  of  the 
ci-devant  blacksmith, 

All  his  domains  and  his  herds,  and  his  patriarchal 
demeanor ; 

Much  they  marvelled  to  hear  his  tales  of  the  soil 
and  the  climate, 

And  of  the  prairies,  whose  numberless  herds  were 
his  who  would  take  them  ; 

Each  one  thought  in  his  heart,  that  he,  too,  would 
go  and  do  likewise. 

Thus  they  ascended  the  steps,  and,  crossing  the 
breezy  veranda. 

Entered  the  liall  of  the  house,  where  already  the 
supper  of  Basil 

"Waited  his  late  return;  and  they  rested  and 
feasted  together. 

Over  the  joyous  feast  the  sudden  darkness 
descended. 

All  was  silent  without,  and,  illuming  the  land- 
scape with  silver. 

Fair  rose  the  dewy  moon  and  the  myriad  stars; 
but  within  doors. 

Brighter  than  these,  shone  the  faces  of  friends  in 
the  glimmering  lamphght. 

Then  from  his  station  aloft,  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  the  herdsman 


EVANGELINE.  69 

Poured  forth  his  heart  and  his  wine  together  in 

endless  profusion. 
Lighting  his  pipe,  that  was  filled  with  sweet 
Natchitoches  tobacco, 

Thus  he  spaice  to  his  guests,  who  listened,  and 
smiled  as  they  listened :  — 

"  Welcome  once  more,  my  friends,  who  long  have 
been  friendless  and  homeless. 

Welcome  once  more  to  a  home,  that  is  better  per- 
chance than  the  old  one  ! 

Here  no  hungry  winter  congeals  our  blood  like 
the  rivers ; 

Here  no  stony  ground  provokes  the  wrath  of  the 
farmer. 

Smoothly  the  ploughshare  runs  through  the  soil, 
as  a  keel  through  the  water. 

All  the  year  round  the  orange-groves  are  in  blos- 
som ;  and  grass  grows 

!More  in  a  siugle  night  than  a  whole  Canadian 
summer. 

Here,  too,  numberless  herds  run  wild  and  un- 
claimed in  the  prairies ; 

Here,  too,  lands  may  be  had  for  the  asking,  and 
forests  of  timber 

With  a  few  blows  of  the  axe  are  hewn  and  framed 
into  houses. 

After  your  houses  are  built,  and  your  fields  are 
yellow  with  harvests, 

No  King  George  of  England  shall  drive  you  away 
from  your  homesteads. 

Burning  your  dweUings  and  bams,  and  stealing 
your  farms  and  your  cattle." 

Speaking  these  words,  he  blew  a  wrathful  cloud 
from  his  nostrils. 


70  EVANGELINE. 

Wliile  his  huge,  brown  hand  came  thundering 

down  on  the  table, 
So  that  the  guests  all  started;  aud  Father  FeU- 

cian,  astounded. 
Suddenly  paused,  with  a  phich  of  snuff  half-way 

to  his  nostrils. 
But  the  brave  Easil  resumed,  aud  his  words  were 

milder  and  gayer :  — 
"Only  beware  of  the  fever,  my  friends,  beware 

of  the  fever ! 
For  it  is  not  like  that  of  our  cold  Acadiau  cli- 
mate. 
Cured  by  wearing  a  spider   hung  round  one's 

neck  in  a  nutshell !  " 
Then  there  were  voices  heard  at  the  door,  aud 

footsteps  approaching 
Sounded  upon  the  stairs  and  the  floor  of  the 

breezy  veranda. 
It  was  the  neighboring  Creoles  aud  small  Acadiau 

planters, 
Who  had  been  summoned  all  to  the  house  of 

Basil  the  Herdsman. 
Merry  the  meeting  was  of  ancient  comrades  and 

neighbors  : 
Friend  clasped  friend  in  his  arms ;  aud  they  who 

before  were  as  strangers. 
Meeting  in  exile,  became  straightway  as  friends 

to  each  other. 
Drawn  by  the  gentle  bond  of  a  common  country 

together. 
But  in  the  neighboring  hall  a  strain  of  music, 

proceeding 
from  the  accordant  strings  of  Michael's  melodi- 
ous fiddle. 


EVANGELINE.  71 


Broke  up  all  further  speech.    Away,  hke  children 

deli<jhted, 
AJl  things  lorgotteu  beside,  they  gave  themselves 

to  the  maddeumg 
Whirl  of  the  dixzy  dauce,  as  it  swept  and  swayed 

to  the  music, 
Dreamlike,  with  beaming  eyes  and  the  rush  of 

tiutteriiig  garments. 

Meanwhile,  apart,  at  the  head  of  the  hall,  the 

priest  and  the  herdsman 
Sat,  conversing  together  of  past  and  present  and 

future ; 
While  Evangeline  stood  like  one  entranced,  for 

withm  her 
Olden  memories  rose,  and  loud  in  the  midst  of 

the  music 
Heard  she  the  sound  of  the  sea,  and  an  irrepres- 
sible saduess 
Came  o'er  lier  heart,  and  unseen  she  stole  forth 

into  the  garden. 
Beautiful  was  ihe  night.     Behind  the  black  wall 

of  the  forest. 
Tipping  its  summit  wdth  silver,  arose  the  moou. 

Ou  the  river 
Fell  here   and   there   through   the   branches   a 

tremulous  gleam  of  tlie  moonlight, 
Like  the  sweet  thouglits  of  love  ou  a  darkened 

and  devious  spirit. 
Nearer  and  round  about  her,  the  manifold  flowers 

of  tlie  garden 
Poured  out  their  souls  in  odors,  that  were  their 

prayers  and  confessions 
Unto  the  night,  as  it  went  its  way,  like  a  silent 

Carthusian. 


72  EVANGELINE. 

Fuller  of  fragrance  than  tliey,  and  as  heavy  with 

sliadows  and  night-dews, 
Hung  the  heart  of  the  maiden.     The  calm  and 

the  magical  moonlight 
Seemed  to   inundate  her  soul  with  indefinable 

longings, 
As,  through  the  garden  gate,  and  beneath  the 

shade  of  the  oak-trees, 
Passed  she  along  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the 

measureless  prairie. 
Silent  it  lay,  with  a  silvery  haze  upon  it,  and  fire- 
flies 
Gleaming  and  floating   away  in  mingled    and 

infinite  numbers. 
Over  her  head  the  stars,  the  thoughts  of  God  in 

the  heavens. 
Shone  on  the  eyes  of  man,  who  had  ceased  to 

marvel  and  worship. 
Save  when  a  blazing  comet  was  seen  on  the  walls 

of  that  temple. 
As  if  a  hand  had  appeared  and  wi'itten  upon  them, 

"  Upharsin." 
And  the  soul  of  the  maiden,  between  the  stars 

and  the  fire-flies. 
Wandered  alone,  and  she  cried,  "  0  Gabriel !  0 

my  beloved ! 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  I  cannot  be- 
hold thee  ? 
Art  thou  so  near  unto  me,  and  yet  thy  voice  does 

not  reach  tne  ? 
Ah !  how  often  thy  feet  have  trod  this  path  to 

the  prairie ! 
Ah!   how  often  thine  eyes  have  looked  on  the 

woodlands  around  me ! 


EVANGELINE.  73 

. !  how  often  beneath  this  oak,  returning  from 

kbor. 
Thou  hast  lain  down  to  rest,  and  to  dream  of  me 

in  thy  slumbers. 
When  shall  these  eyes  behold,  these  arms  be 

folded  about  thee  ?  " 
Loud  and  sudden  and  near  the  note  of  a  whip- 

poorwill  sounded 
Like  a  flute  in  the  woods  ;  and  anon,  through  tlie 

neighboring  thickets, 
Farther  and  farther  away  it  floated  and  dropped 

into  silence. 
"  Patience  !  "  whispered  the  oaks  from  oracular 

caverns  of  aarkness : 
A.nd,  from  the  moonlit  meadow,  a  sigh  responded, 

"  To-morrow ! " 


Bright  rose  the  sun  next  day;   and  all  the 

flowers  of  the  garden 
Bathed  his   sliining  feet  with  the.ir  tears,  and 

anointed  liis  tresses 
With  the  delicious  balm  that  they  bore  in  their 

vases  of  crystal. 
"  Farewell !  "  said  the  priest,  as  he  stood  at  the 

shadowy  threshold ; 
"  See  that  you  bring  us  the  Prodigal  Son  from 

his  fasting  and  famine, 
And,  too,  the  Foolish  Virgin,  who  slept  when 

the  bridegroom  was  coming." 
"  Farewell !  "  answered  the  maiden,  and,  smiling, 

with  Biisil  descended 
Down  to  the  river's  brink,  where  the  boatmen 

already  were  waiting. 


74  EVANGELINE. 

Thus  beginning  their  journey  with  morning,  and 

sunshine,  and  gladness, 
Swiftly  tliey  followed  the  flight  of  him  who  was 

speeding  hefore  them, 
Blown  by  the  blast  of  fate  hke  a  dead  leaf  ovei 

the  desert. 
Not  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  yet  the  day  that 

succeeded, 
Found  they  trace  of  his  course,  in  lake  or  forest 

or  river, 
Nor,  after  many  days,  had  they  found  him  ;  but 

vague  and  uncertain 
Rumors  alone  were  their  guides  through  a  wild 

and  desolate  country ; 
Till,  at  the  little  iim  of  the  Spanish  town  of 

Adayes, 
Weary  and  worn,  they  aligiited,  and  learned  from 

the  garrulous  landlord. 
That  on  the  duy  before,  with  horses  and  guides 

and  c<)m))anions, 
Gabriel  left  the  village,  and  took  the  road  of  the 

prairies. 

IV. 

Par  in  the  West  there  lies  a  desert  land,  where 
the  mountains 

Lift,  through  peqietual  snows,  their  lofty  and 
Inminons  summits. 

Down  from  their  jagged,  deep  ravines,  where  the 
gorge,  like  a  gateway, 

Opens  a  passage  rnde  to  the  wheels  of  the  emi- 
grant's wagon. 

Westward  the  Oregon  flows  and  the  Walleway 
and  Owyhee. 


EVANGELINE.  75 

Eastward,  with  devious  course,  among  the  Wind- 
river  Mountains, 

Through  t  lie  Sweet-water  Valley  precipitate  leaps 
the  Nebraska; 

And  to  the  soutli,  from  Fontaine-qui-bout  and 
the  Spanish  sierras, 

Fretted  witli  sands  and  rocks,  and  swept  by  the 
wind  of  the  desert. 

Numberless  torrents,  with  ceaseless  sound,  de- 
scend to  the  ocean, 

Like  the  great  chords  of  a  harp,  in  loud  and  sol- 
emn vibrations. 

Spreading  between  these  streams  are  the  won- 
drous, beautiful  prairies. 

Billowy  bays  of  grass  ever  rolling  in  shadow  and 
sunshine, 

Briglit  witli  luxuriant  clusters  of  roses  and  pur- 
ple amor|)has. 

Over  thein  wander  the  buffalo  herds,  and  the  elk 
and  the  roebuck ; 

Over  them  wander  the  wolves,  and  herds  of  rider- 
less horses ; 

Fires  that  blast  and  blight,  and  winds  that  are 
weary  with  travel ; 

Over  thera  wander  the  scattered  tribes  of  Ish- 
mael's  children, 

Staining  the  desert  with  blood ;  and  above  their 
terrible  war-trails 

Circles  and  sails  aloft,  on  pinions  majestic,  the 
vulture. 

Like  the  implacable  soul  of  a  chieftain  slaughtered 
in  battle. 

By  invisible  stairs  ascending  and  scaling  the 
heavens. 


76  EVANGELINE. 

Here  and  there  rise  smokes  from  the  camps  of 

these  savage  marauders ; 
Here  and  there  rise  groves  from  the  margins  of 

swift-running  rivers ; 
And  the  grim,  taciturn  bear,  the  anchorite  monk 

of  tile  desert. 
Climbs  down  tlieir  dark  ravines  to  dig  for  I'oots 

by  tlie  brookside, 
And  over  all  is  the  sky,  the  clear  and  crystalUne 

heaven. 
Like  the  protecting  hand  of  God  inverted  above 

them. 

Into  this  wonderful  land,  at  the  base  of  the 

Ozark  Mountains, 
Gabriel  far  had  entered,  with  hunters  and  trap- 
pers behind  him. 
Day  after  day,  with  their   Indian   guides,  the 

maiden  and  Basil 
followed  his  flying  steps,  and  thought  each  day 

to  o'ertake  him. 
Sometimes  they  saw,  or  thought  they  saw,  the 

smoke  of  his  camp-fire 
Rise  in  the  morning  air  from  the  distant  plain  ; 

but  at  nightfall. 
When  they  had  reached  the  place,  they  found 

only  embers  and  ashes. 
And,  though  their  hearts  were  sad  at  times  and 

their  bodies  were  weary, 
Hope  still  guided  them  on,  as  the  magic  Fata 

Morgana 
Showed  them  her  lakes  of  light,  that  retreated 

and  vanished  before  them. 


r 


EVANGELINE.  77 


Once,  as  they  sat  by  their  evening  fire,  there 

silently  entered 
Into  the  little  camp  an  Indian  woman,  whose 

features 
Wore  deep  traces  of  sorrow,  and  patience  as  great 

as  her  sorrow. 
She  was  a  Sha^vnee  woman  returning  home  to 

her  people. 
From  the  far-off  hunting-grounds  of  the  cruel 

Camanches, 
Where  her  Canadian  husband,  a  Coureur-des- 

Bois,  had  been  murdered. 
Touched  were  their  hearts  at  her  story,  and  warm- 
est aud  friendUest  welcome 
Gave  they,  with  words  of  cheer,  and  she  sat  and 

feasted  among  them 
On  the  butfalo-meat  and  the  venison  cooked  on 

the  embers. 
But  when  their  meal  was  done,  and  Basil  and  all 

his  companions. 
Worn  witii  the  long  day's  march  and  the  chase 

of  the  deer  aud  the  bison. 
Stretched  themselves  on  the  ground,  and  slept 

where  the  quivering  firelight 
Flashed  on  their  swarthy  cheeks,  and  their  forms 

wrapped  up  in  their  blankets. 
Then  at  the  door  of  Evangeline's  tent  she  sat  and 

repeated 
Slowly,  Mith  soft,  low  voice,  and  the  charm  of 

her  Indian  accent. 
All  the  tale  of  her  love,  with  its  pleasures,  and 

pains,  and  reverses, 
iluch  EvaugeUne  wept  at  the  tale,  and  to  know 

that  another 


78  EVANGELINE. 

Hapless  heart  like  her  own  had  loved  and  had 

been  disappointed. 
Moved  to  the  depths  of  her  soul  by  pity  and 

woman's  compassion, 
Yet  in  her  sorrow  pleased  that  one  who  had  suf- 
fered was  near  her. 
She  in  turn  related  her  love  and  all  its  disas- 
ters. 
Mute  with  wonder  the  Shawnee  sat,  and  when 

she  had  ended 
Still  was  mute  ;  but  at  length,  as  if  a  mysterious 

horror 
Passed  through  her  brain,  she  spake,  and  repeated 

the  tale  of  the  Mowis  ; 
Mowis,  the  bridegroom  of  snow,  who  won  and 

wedded  a  maiden. 
But,  when  the  morning  came,  arose  and  passed 

from  the  wigwam. 
Fading  and  melting  away  and  dissolving  into  the 

sunsliine. 
Till  she  beheld  him  no  more,  though  she  followed 

far  into  the  forest. 
Then,  in  tliose  sweet,  low  tones,  that  seemed  liks 

a  weird  incantation, 
Told  she  the  tale  of  the  fair  Lilinau,  who  was 

wooed  by  a  phantom. 
That,  through  the  pines  o'er  her  father's  lodge, 

in  the  hush  of  the  twilight. 
Breathed  like  the  evening  wind,  and  whispered 

love  to  the  maiden, 
Till  she  followed   his  green  and  waving  plume 

througli  the  forest, 
And  nevermore  returned,  nor  was  seen  again  by 

her  people. 


EVANGELINE.  79 

Silent  with  wonder  and  strange  surprise,  Evange- 
line listened 
To  the  soft  flow  of  her  magical  words,  till  the 

region  around  licr 
Seemed  like  enchanted  ground,  and  her  swarthy 

guest  the  enchantress. 
Slowly  over  the  tops  of  the  Ozark  Mountains  the 

moon  rose, 
Lighting  the  little  tent,  and  with  a  mysterious 

splendor 
Touching  the  sombre  leaves,  and  embracing  and 

filling  the  woodland. 
With  a  delicious  sound  the  brook  rushed  by,  and 

the  branches 
Swayed  and  siglied  overhead  in  scarcely  audible 

whispers. 
Filled  with  the  thoughts  of  love  was  Evangeline's 

heart,  but  a  secret, 
Subtile  sense  crept  in  of  pain  and  indefinite  terror. 
As  the  cold,  poisonous  snake  creeps  into  the  nest 

of  the  swallow. 
It  was  no  earthly  fear.     A  breath  from  the  region 

of  spirits 
Seemed  to  float  in  tlie  air  of  night ;  and  slie  felt 

for  a  moment 
That,  like  the  Indian  maid,  she,  too,  was  pursu- 
ing a  phantom. 
With  this  thouglit  she  slept,  and  the  fear  and  the 

phantom  had  vanished. 

Early  upon  the   morrow  the   march  was  re- 
sumed ;  and  the  ShaAvnee 
Said,  as  they  journeyed  along,  "  On  the  western 
slope  of  these  mountains 


80  EVANGELINE. 

Dwells  in  his  little  vQlage  the  Black  Robe  chief 

of  the  Mission. 
Much  he  teaches  the  people,  and  tells  them  of 

Mary  and  Jesus ; 
lioud  laugh  their  hearts  with  joy,  and  weep  with 

pain,  as  they  hear  him." 
:si'hen,  with  a  sudden  and  secret  emotion,  Evange- 
line answered, 
''  Let  us  go  to  the  Mission,  for  there  good  tidings 

await  us !  " 
Thither  they  turned  their  steeds  ;  and  behind  a 

spur  of  tlie  mountains. 
Just  as  the  sun  went  down,  they  heard  a  murmur 

of  voices, 
jind  in  a  meadow  green  and  broad,  by  the  bank 

of  a  river, 
eaw  the  tents  of  the  Christians,  the  tents  of  the 

Jesuit  Mission. 
Under  a  towering  oak,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of 

the  village. 
Knelt  the  Black  Robe  chief  with  his  children.     A 

crucifix  fastened 
High  on  the  trunk  of  the  tree,  and  overshadowed 

by  grape-vines, 
Looked  with  its  agonized  face  on  the  multitude 

kneeling  beneath  it. 
This  was  their  rural  chapel.     Aloft,  through  the 

intricate  arches 
Of  its  aerial  roof,  arose  the  chant  of  their  ves- 
pers, 
Mingling  its  notes  with  the  soft   susurrus  and 

sighs  of  the  branches. 
Silent,  witli  heads  uncovered,  the  travellers,  nearer 

approaching. 


EVAXGELI^E.  81 


tnelt  on  the  swarded  floor,  and  joined  in  the 
eveaiag  devotious. 
ut  when  the  service  was  done,  and  the  benedic- 
tion had  fallen 

Forth  from  the  hands  of  the  priest,  like  seed  from 
the- hands  of  the  sower. 

Slowly  the  reverend  man  advanced  to  the  stran- 
gers, and  bade  them 

Welcome ;  and  when  they  replied,  he  smiled  with 
benignant  expression, 

Hearing  the  homelike  sounds  of  his  mother-tongue 
in  the  forest, 

And,  with  words  of  kindness,  conducted  them 
into  his  wigwam. 

There  upon  mats  and  skins  they  reposed,  and  on 
calces  of  the  maize-ear 

Feasted,  and  slaked  their  thirst  from  the  water- 
gourd  of  the  teacher. 

Soon  was  their  story  told;  and  the  priest  with 
solemnity  answered :  — 

"Not  six  suns  have  risen  and  set  since  Gabriel, 
seated 

On  this  mat  by  my  side,  where  now  the  maiden 
reposes. 

Told  me  t  his  same  sad  tale  ;  then  arose  and  con  • 
tinned  his  journey  !  " 

Soft  was  the  voice  of  the  priest,  and  he  spake 
with  an  accent  of  kindness ; 

But  on  Evangeline's  heart  fell  his  words  as  in 
winter  the  snow-flakes 

Fall  into  some  lone  nest  from  which  the  birds 
have  departed. 

"  Far  to  the  north  he  has  gone,"  continued  the 
priest ;  "  but  in  autumn, 


82  EVANGELINE. 

When  the  chase  is  done,  will  return  again  to  the 

Mission." 
Then  Evangeline  said,  and  her  voice  was  meek 

and  submissive, 
"Let  me  remain  witli  thee,  for  my  soul  is  sad 

and  afflicted." 
So  seemed  it  wjse  and  well  unto  all ;  and  betimes 

on  the  morrow. 
Mounting  his  Mexican  steed,  with   his   Indian 

guides  and  companions, 
Homeward  Basil  returned,  and  Evangeline  stayed 

at  the  Mission. 

Slowly,  slowly,  slowly  the  days  succeeded  each 

other,  — 
Days  and  weeks  and  mouths ;  and  the  fields  of 

maize  that  were  springing 
Green  from  the  ground  wlien  a  stranger  she  came, 

now  waviug  above  her. 
Lifted  their  slender  shafts,  with  leaves  interlacing, 

and  forming 
Cloisters  for  mendicant  crows  and  gi-anaries  pil- 
laged by  squirrels. 
Then  in  the  golden  weather  the  maize  was  husked, 

and  the  maidens 
Blushed  at  each  blood-red  ear,  for  that  betokened 

a  lover. 
But  at  the  crooked  laughed,  and  called  it  a  thief 

in  tlie  cornfield. 
Even  the  blood-red  ear  to  Evangeline  brought 

not  her  lover. 
"  Patience  1 "  the  priest  would  say ;  "  have  faith, 

and  thy  prayer  will  be  answered  ! 
Look  at  this  vigorous  plant  that  lifts  its  head 

from  the  meadow. 


It 

^oeenow  its  le 


EVANGELINE.  88 


seenow  its  leaves  are  turned  to  the  north,  as  true 

as  the  magnet ; 
This  is  the  compass-tio\yer,  that  the   finger   of 

God  has  planted 
Here  in  the  houseless  wild,  to  direct  the  travel- 
ler's journey 
Over  the  sea-like,  pathless,  limitless  waste  of  the 

desert. 
Such  in  the  soul  of  man  is  faith.     The  blossoms 

of  passion, 
Gay  and  luxuriant  flowers,  are  brighter  and  fuller 

of  fragrance, 
But  they  beguile  us,  and  lead  us  astray,  and  their 

odor  is  deadly. 
Only  this  humble  plant  can  guide  us  here,  and 

hei'eafter 
Crown  us  with  asphodel  flowers,  that  are  wet  with 

the  dews  of  nepenthe." 

So  came  the  autumn,  and  passed,  and  the  win- 
ter, —  yet  Gabriel  came  not ; 
Blossomed  the  openhig  spring,  and  the  notes  of 

the  robin  and  bluebird 
Sounded  sweet  upon  wold  and  in  wood,   yet 

Gabriel  came  not. 
But  on  the  breath  of  the  summer  winds  a  rumor 

was  wafted 
Sweeter  Ihan  song  of  bird,  or  hue  or  odor  of 

blossom. 
Far  to  the  north  and  east,  it  said,  in  the  Michigan 

forests, 
Gabriel  had  his  lodge  by  the  banks  of  the  Saginaw 

River. 
And,  with  returning  guides,  that  sought  the  lakes 

of  St.  Lawrence, 


81-  EVANGELINE. 

Saying  a  sad  farewell,  Evangeline  went  from  the 

Mission. 
Wlien  over  weary  ways,  by  long  and  perilous 

marches. 
She  had  attained  at  length  the   depths   of  tlie 

Michigan  forests, 
round  she  the  Imnter's  lodge  deserted  and  fallen 

to  ruin ! 

Thus  did  the  long  sad  years  glide  on,  and  in 

seasons  and  places 
Divers  and  distant  far  was  seen  the  wandering 

maiden ;  — 
Now  in  the  Tents  of  Grace  of  the  meek  Moravian 

Missions, 
Now  in  the  noisy  camps  and  the  battle-fields  of 

the  army, 
Now  in  secluded  hamlets,  in  towns  and  populous 

cities. 
Like  a  phantom  she  came,  and  passed  away  un- 

remembercd. 
Fair  was  she  and  young,  wlien  in  hope  began  the 

long  journey ; 
Faded  was  she  and  old,  when  in  disappointment 

it  ended. 
Each  succeeding  year  stole  something  away  from 

her  beauty. 
Leaving  behind  it,  broader  and  deeper,  the  gloom 

and  the  shadow. 
Then  there  appeared  and  spread  fayit  streaks  of 

gray  o'er  her  forehead, 
Dawn  of  another  life,  that  broke  o'er  her  earthly 

horizon, 
As  in  the  eastern  sky  the  first  faint  streaks  of  the 

morning. 


EVANGELINE.  85 


V. 

Ix  that  deliglitful  land  which  is  washed  by  the 

Delaware's  waters. 
Guarding  in  sylvan  shades  the  name  of  Penn  the 

apostle. 
Stands  on  the  banks  of  its  beautiful  stream  the 

city  he  founded. 
There  all  the  air  is  balm,  and  the  peach  is  the 

emblem  of  beauty, 
And  the  streets  still  re-echo  the  names  of  the 

trees  of  the  forest. 
As  if  they  fain  would  appease  the  Dryads  whose 

haunts  they  molested. 
There  from  the  troubled  sea  had  Evangeline  landed, 

an  exUe, 
Finding  among  the  children  of  Penn  a  home  and 

a  country. 
There  old  Rene  Leblanc  had  died ;  and  when  he 

departed. 
Saw  at  his  side  only  one  of  all  his  himdred  de- 
scendants. 
Something  at  least  there  was  in  the  friendly  streets 

of  the  city. 
Something  that  spake  to  her  heart,  and  made  her 

no  longer  a  stranger ; 
And  her  ear  was  pleased  with  the  Thee  and  Thou 

of  the  Quakers,  * 

For  it  recalled  the  past,  the  old  Acadian  coun- 
try. 
Where  all  men  were  equal,  and  all  were  brothers 

and  sisters. 
So,  when  the  fruitless  search,  the  disappointed 

endeavor, 


86  EVANGELINE. 

Ended,  to  recomnieuce  no  more  upon  earth,  un- 

conii)laining. 
Thither,  as  leaves  to  the  light,  were  turned  her 

thoughts  and  her  footsteps. 
As  from  a  mountain's  top  the  rainy  mists  of  the 

morning 
Roll  away,  and  afar  we  behold  the  landscape 

below  us. 
Sun-illumined,  with  shining  rivers  and  cities  and 

hamlets. 
So  fell  the  mists  from  her  mind,  and  she  saw  the 

world  far  below  her. 
Dark  no   longer,  but   all  illumined  with  love; 

and  the  pathway 
Wliich  she  had  cUmbecl  so  far,  lying  smooth  and 

fair  in  the  distance. 
Gabriel  was  not  forgotten.    Within  her  heart  was 

his  image. 
Clothed  in  the  beauty  of  love  and  youth,  as  last 

she  beheld  him, 
Only  more  beautiful  made  by  his  deathlike  silence 

and  absence. 
Into  her  thoughts  of  him  time  entered  not,  for  it 

was  not. 
Over  him  years  liad  no  power ;  he  was  not  changed, 

but  transfigured ; 
He  had  become  to  her  heart  as  one  who  is  dead, 

and  not' absent ; 
Patience  and  abnegation  of  self,  and  devotion  to 

others, 
This  was  the  lesson  a  life  of  trial  and  sorrow  had 

taught  her. 
So  was  her  love  diffused,  but,  like  to  some  odor- 

ous  spices, 


I 


EVANGELINE.  87 


8aff3red  no  waste  uor  loss,  though  filling  the  air 

with  aroma. 
Other  hope  had  she  uoue,  nor  wish  in  life,  but  to 

follow 
Meekly,  with  reverent  steps,  the  sacred  feet  of 

her  Saviour. 
Thus  many  years  she  lived  as  a  Sister  of  Mercy ; 

frequeuling 
Lonely  and  wretched  roofs  in  the  crowded  lanes 

of  the  city. 
Where  distress  "and  want  concealed  themselves 

from  the  sunlight. 
Where  disease  and  sorrow  in  garrets  languished 

neglected. 
Night  after  night,  when  the  world  was  asleep,  as 

the  watchman  repeated 
Loud,  through  the  gusty  streets,  that  all  was  well 

in  the  city. 
High  at  some  lonely  window  he  saw  the  light  of 

her  taper. 
Day  after  day,  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  slow 

through  the  suburbs 
Plodded  the  German  farmer,  with  flowers  and 

fruits  for  the  market. 
Met  he  that  meek,  pale  face,  returning  home  from 

its  watchijigs. 

Then  it  came  to  pass  that  a  pestilence  fell  on 

the  city, 
Presaged  by  wondrous  signs,  and  mostly  by  flocks 

of  wild  pigeons, 
Darkening  the  sun  in  their  fliglit,  with  naught 

in  their  craws  but  an  acorn. 
And,  as  the  tides  of  the  sea  arise  in  the  month 

of  September, 


88  EVANGELINE. 

Flooding  some  silver  stream,  till  it  spreads  to  a 

lake  in  tlie  meadow, 
So  death  flooded  life,  and,  o'erflowing  its  natural 

margin. 
Spread  to  a  brackish  lake,  the  silver  stream  of 

existence. 
Wealth  had  no  power  to  bribe,  nor  beauty  to 

cliarm,  the  oppressor ; 
But  all  perished  alike  beneath  the  scourge  of  hia 

anger ; — 
Only,  alas !  the  f  oor,  wlio  had  neither  friends 

nor  attendants. 
Crept  away  to  die  in  the  almshouse,  home  of  the 

homeless. 
Then  in  the  suburbs  it  stood,  in  the  midst  of 

meadows  and  woodlands  ;  — 
Now  the  city  surrounds  it  ;  but   still,  with  its 

gateway  and  wicket 
Meek,  in  the  midst  of  splendor,  its  humble  walls 

seem  to  echo 
Softly  the  words  of  the  Lord :  —  "  Tlie  poor  ye 

always  have  with  you." 
Thither,  by  night  and  by  day,  came  the  Sister  of 

Mercy.     The  dying 
Looked  up  into  her  face,  and  thought,  indeed,  to 

behold  there 
Gleams  of  celestial  light  encircle  her  forehead 

with  splendor. 
Such  as  the  artist  paints  o'er  the  brows  of  saints 

and  apostles. 
Or  such  as  hangs  by  night  o'er  a  city  seen  at  a 

distance. 
Unto  their  eyes  it  seemed  the  lamps  of  the  city 

celestial, 


EVANGELINE,  89 

Into  whose  shining  gates  erelong  their  spirits 
would  enter. 

Thus,  on  a  Sabbath  mom,  through  the  streets, 
deserted  and  silent, 

Wending  her  quiet  way,  she  entered  the  door  of 
the  almshouse. 

Sweet  on  the  summer  air  was  the  odor  of  flowers 
in  the  garden ; 

And  she  paused  on  her  way  to  gather  the  fairest 
among  them. 

That  the  dying  once  more  might  rejoice  in  their 
fragrance  and  beauty. 

Then,  as  she  iliounted  the  staire  to  the  corridors, 
cooled  by  the  east-wind. 

Distant  and  soft  on  her  ear  fell  the  chimes  from 
the  belfry  of  Christ  Church, 

While,  intermingled  with  these,  across  the  mead- 
ows were  wafted 

Sounds  of  psalms,  that  were  sung  by  the  Swedes 
in  their  church  at  Wicaco. 

Soft  as  descending  wings  fell  the  calm  of  the  hour 
on  her  spirit ; 

Something  within  her  said,  "  At  length  thy  trials 
are  ended  " ; 

And,  with  light  in  her  looks,  she  entered  the  cham- 
bers of  sickness. 

Noiselessly  moved  about  the  assiduous,  careful 
attendants. 

Moistening  the  feverish  lip,  and  the  achhig  brow, 
and  in  silence 

Closing  the  sightless  eyes  of  the  dead,  and  con- 
cealing I  heir  faces. 

Where  on  their  pallets  they  lay,  hke  drifts  of 
snow  by  the  roadside. 


90  EVANGELINE. 

Mauy  a  languid  head,  upraised  as  Evangeliue 

entered. 
Turned  on  its  pillow  of  pain  to  gaze  wliile  she 

passed,  for  her  presence 
Tell  on  their  hearts  like  a  ray  of  the  sun  on  the 

walls  of  a  prison. 
And,  as  she  looked  around,  she  saw  how  Death, 

tlie  consoler, 
Laying  liis  hand  upon  many  a  heart,  had  healed 

it  forever. 
Many  familiar  forms  had  disappeared  in  the  night- 
time ; 
Vacant  their  places  were,  or  filled  already  by 

strangers. 

Suddenly,  as  if  arrested  by  fear  or  a  feeling  of 

wonder. 
Still  she  stood,  with  her  colorless  lips  apart,  while 

a  shudder 
Ran  through  lier  frame,  and,  forgotten,  the  flow. 

erets  dropped  from  her  fingers, 
And  from  her  eyes  and  cheeks  the  light  and  bloom 

of  the  morning. 
Then  there  escaped  from  her  lips  a  cry  of  such 

terrible  anguisli, 
That  the  dying  heard  it,  and  started  up  from 

their  pillows. 
On  the  pallet  before  her  was  stretched  the  form 

of  an  old  man. 
Long,  and  thin,  and  gray  were  the  locks  that 

shaded  his  temples ; 
But,  as  he  lay  in  the  morning  light,  his  face  for 

a  moment 
Seemed  to  assume  once  more  the  forms  of  its 

earlier  manhood ; 


EVANGELINE.  91 

So  are  wont  to  be  changed  the  faces  of  those  who 

are  dying. 
Hot  and  red  on  his  lips  still  burned  the  flush  of 

the  fever, 
A.S  if  life,  like  the  Hebrew,  with  blood  had  be- 
sprinkled its  portals, 
That  the  Angel  of  Death  might  see  the  sign,  and 

pass  over. 
Motionless,  senseless,  dying,  he  lay,  and  his  spirit 

exhausted 
Seemed  to  be  sinking  down  through  infinite  depths 

in  the  darkness, 
Darkness  of  slumber  and  death,  forever  sinking 

and  sinking. 
Then  through  those  realms  of  shade,  in  multiplied 

reverberations. 
Heard  he  that  cry  of  pain,  and  through  the  hush 

that  succeeded 
^Vliispered  a  gentle  voice,  in  accents  tender  and 

saint-like, 
"  Gabriel  I  O  my  beloved !  "  and  died  away  into 

silence. 
Then  he  beheld,  in  a  dream,  once  more  the  home 

of  his  childliood ; 
Green  Acadian  meadows,  with  sylvan  rivers  among 

them, 
Village,    and   mountain,    and   woodlands;    and, 

walking  under  their  shadow, 
As  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  Evangeline  rose  in 

his  vision. 
Tears  came  into  his  eyes ;  and  as  slowly  he  lifted 

liis  eyelids. 
Vanished  the  vision  away,  but  Evangeline  knell 

bv  his  bedside. 


92  EVANGELINE. 

Vainly  he  strove  to  whisper  her  name,  for  the 
accents  uuut  tared 

Died  on  his  lips,  and  their  motion  revealed  what 
his  tongue  would  have  spoken. 

Vainly  lie  strove  to  rise ;  and  Evangeline,  kneel- 
ing beside  him, 

Kissed  his  dying  lips,  and  laid  his  head  on  her 
bosom. 

Sweet  was  the  light  of  his  eyes ;  but  it  suddenly 
sank  into  darkness, 

As  when  a  lamp  is  blown  out  by  a  gust  of  wind 
at  a  casement. 

All  was  ended  now,  the  liope,  and  the  fear,  and 

the  sorrow, 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied 

longing, 
All  the  dull,  deep  pain,  and  constant  anguish  of 

•  patience ! 
And,  as  she  pressed  once  more  the  lifeless  head 

to  her  bosom, 
Meekly   slie   bowed   her  own,   and  murmured, 

"Father,  I  thank  thee!" 


^m^ 


"TILL  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  far 
away  from  its  shadow, 
S;  Side  by  side,  in  their  nameless  graves, 
the  lovers  are  sleepmg. 
Under  the  humble  walls  of  the  little  Catholic 

cliurchyard. 
In  the  heart  of  the  city,  they  lie,  unknown  and 

unnoticed. 
Daily  the  tides  of  life  go  ebbing  and  flowing 

beside  them. 
Thousands  of  throbbing  hearts,  where  theirs  are 

at  rest  and  forever. 
Thousands   of  aching  brains,  where  theirs  no 

longer  are  busy. 
Thousands  of  toiling  hands,  where  theirs  have 

ceased  from  their  labors. 
Thousands  of  weary  feet,  where  theirs  have  com- 
pleted their  journey ! 

Still  stands  the  forest  primeval ;  but  under  the 
sliade  of  its  branches 

Dwells  another  race,  with  other  customs  and  lan- 
guage. 

Only  along  the  shore  of  the  mournful  and  misty 
Atlantic 

Linger  a  few  Acadian  peasants,  whose  fathers 
from  exile 


96  EVANGELINE. 

Wandered  back  to  their  native  land  to  die  in  its 

bosom. 
In  the  tisherman's  cot  the  wheel  and -the  loom 

are  still  busy ; 
Maidens  still  wear  their  Norman  caps  and  their 

kirtles  of  hoiiiespiiu, 
And  by  the  evening  lire  repeat  Evangeline's 

story, 
While  from  its  rocky  caverns  the  deep-voiced, 

neighboring  ocean 
Speaks,  and  in  accents  disconsolate  answers  the 

wail  of  the  forest. 


THE 


COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

I.    Miles  Staxdish 7 

II.    Love  axd  Fkiendsuip         ....  13 

III.  The  Lovee's  Eeeand 20 

IV.  John  Alden 36 

V.    The  Sailing  op  the  May  Flower       .       .  48 

VI.    Priscilla 61 

Vll.   The  March  of  Miles  Standish   ...  70 

vill.   The  Spinning-Wheel 77 

IX.   The  Weddisg-Day 87 


♦^Sr^r^Ss^ 


THE 


COURTSHIP  OF  MILES   STANDISH. 


I. 

MILES  STANDISH. 


^N  the  Old  Colony  days,  ia  Plymouth 
the  land  of  the  Pilgrims, 
To  and  fro  in  a  room  of  his  simple 
and  primitive  dwelling. 
Clad  in  doublet  and  hose,  and  boots  of  Cordo- 
van leather,  . 
Strode,  with  a  martial  air.  Miles  Standish  the 

Puritan  Captain. 
Buried  in  thought  he  seemed,  with  his  hands 

behind  him,  and  pausing 
Ever  and  anon  to  behold  his  glittering  weapons 

of  warfare, 
Hanging  in  shining  array  along  the  walls  of 
the  chamber,  — 


8       THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Cutlass  and  corselet  of  steel,  and  his  trusty 
sword  of  Damascus, 

Curved  at  the  point  and  inscribed  with  its  mys- 
tical Arabic  sentence, 

While  underneath,  in  a  corner,  were  fowling- 
piece,  musket,  and  matchlock. 

Sliort  of  stature  he  was,  but  strougly  built  and 
athletic. 

Broad  in  the  shoulders,  deep-chested,  with 
muscles  and  sinews  of  iron; 

Brown  as  a  nut  was  his  face,  but  his  russet 
beard  was  already 

Flaked  with  patches  of  snow,  as  hedges  some- 
times in  November. 

Near  him  was  seated  John  Alden,  his  friend, 
and  household  companion, 

Writing  with  diligent  speed  at  a  table  of  pine 
by  the  window ; 

Fair-haired,  azure-eyed,  with  delicate  Saxon 
(jomplexion. 

Having  the  dew  of  his  youth,  and  the  beauty 
thereof,  as  the  captives 

Whom  Saint  Gregory  saw,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Not  Angles,  but  Angels." 

Youngest  of  all  was  he  of  the  men  who  came 
in  the  May  Flower. 

Suddenly  breaking  the  silence,  the  diligent 
scribe  interrupting. 


MILES    STANDISH.  9 

Spake,  in  the  pride  of  his  heart,  Miles  Standish 

the  Captain  of  Plymouth. 
"Look  at  these  arras,"  he  said,  "the  warlike 

weapons  that  haug  here 
Burnished  and  bright  and  clean,  as  if  for  pa- 

r?de  or  inspection ! 
This  is  the  swoid  of  Damascus  I  fought  with 

in  Flanders  ;  this  breastplate, 
WeU  I  remember  the  day  !  once  saved  my  life 

in  a  skirmish ; 
Here  ia  front  you  can  see  the  very  dint  of  the 

ballet 
Fired  point-blank  at  my  heart  by  a  Spanish 

arcabucero. 
Had  it  not  been  of  sheer  steel,  the  forgotten 

bones  of  Miles  Standish 
Wonld  at  tins  moment  be  mould,  in  their  grave 

in  the  Flemish  morasses." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  but  looked 

not  up  from  his  writing : 
"Truly  the  breath  of  the  Lord  hath  slackened 

the  speed  of  the  bullet ; 
He  in  his   mercy  preserved  you,  to  be  our 

shield  and  our  weapon ! " 
Still  the  Capialn  continued,   unheeding  the 

words  of  the  stripling : 
"  See,  bow  blight  they  are  burnished,  as  if  in 

an  arsenal  hanging ; 


10      THE  COUKTSUIP  OF  MILES  STAXDISH. 

That  is  because  I  have  done  it  myself,  and  not 

left  it  to  otliers. 
Serve  yourself,  would,  you  be  well  served,  is 

an  excellent  adage ; 
So  I  take  care  of  my  arms,  as  you  of  your  pens 

and  your  inkhorn. 
Then,  too,  there  are   my  soldiers,  my  great, 

invincible  army. 
Twelve  men,  all  equipped,  having  each  his  rest 

and  his  matchlock. 
Eighteen  shillings  a  month,  together  with  diet 

and  pillage. 
And,  Hke  Ca;sar,  I  know  the  name  of  each  of 

my  soldiers ! " 
This  he  said  with  a  smile,  that  danced  in  his 

eyes,  as  the  sunbeams 
Dance  on  the  waves  of  the  sea,  and  vanish 

again  in  a  moment. 
Alden  laughed  as  he  wrote,  and  still  the  Cap- 
tain continued : 
"  Look !    you  can  see  from  this  Avindow  my 

brazen  howitzer  planted 
High  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  a  preacher 

who  speaks  to  the  purpose, 
Steady,  straightforward,  and  strong,  with  irre- 
sistible logic, 
Orthodox,  flashing  conviction  right   into  the 

hearts  of  the  heathen. 


MILES    STAN'DISII.  11 

Now  we  are  ready,  I  tliiiik,  for  any  assault  of 

the  Indians ; 
Let  them  come,  if  tbey  like,  and  the  sooner 

they  try  it  the  better,  — 
Let  them  come  if  they  like,  be  it  sagamore, 

sachem,  or  pow-wow, 
Aspiuet,  Samoset,  Corbitant,  Squanto,  or  To- 

kamaharaon ! " 

Long  at  the  window  he  stood,  and  wistfully 

gazed  on  tlie  landscape, 
Washed   with   a  cold  gray  mist,  the  vapory 

breath  of  the  east-wind, 
Forest  and  meadow  and  hill,  and  the  steel-blue 

rim  of  the  ocean,  * 

Lying  silent  and  sad,  in  the  afternoon  shadows 

and  sunshine. 
Over  his  countenance  flitted  a  shadow  like 

those  on  the  landscape, 
Gloom  intermingled  with  light ;  and  his  voice 

was  subdued  with  emotion. 
Tenderness,  pity,  regret,  as  after  a  pause  he 

proceeded : 
"Yonder  there,  on  the   liill  by  the  sea,  lies 

buried  Rose  Standish  ; 
Beautiful  rose  of  love,  tiiat  bloomed  for  me  by 

the  wayside ! 
She  was  the  first  to  die  of  all  who  came  in  the 

May  Flower ! 


13      THE  COUKTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Green  above  her  is  growing  the  field  of  wheat 

we  have  sown  tliere. 
Better  to   hide  from   liie   Indian   scouts  the 

graves  of  our  people, 
Lest  they  sliould  count  them  and  see  liow  many 

ah-eady  have  perislied  !  " 
Sadly  his  face  he  averted,  and  strode  up  and 

down,  and  was  thoughtful. 

rixed  to  the  opposite  wall  was  a  shelf  of 
books,  and  among  them 

Prominent  three,  distinguished  alike  for  bulk 
and  for  binding ; 

Bariffe's  Artillery  Guide,  and  the  Commenta- 
ries oflCffisar 

Out  of  the  Latin  translated  by  Arthur  Goldinge 
of  London, 

And,  as  if  guarded  by  these,  between  them  was 
standing  the  Bible. 

Musing  a  moment  before  them.  Miles  Standish 
paused,  as  if  doubtful 

Which  of  the  three  he  should  choose  for  his 
consolation  and  comfort, 

Whether  the  wars  of  the  Hebrew.s,  the  famous 
campaigns  of  the  Romans, 

Or  the  Artillery  practice,  designed  for  belliger- 
ent Christians. 

Finally  down  from  its  shelf  he  dragged  the 
ponderous  Roman, 


LOVE   AND    FRIENDSHIP.  13 

Seated  himself  at  the  window,  and  opened  the 

book,  and  iu  silence 
Turned  o'er  the  well-worn  leaves,  where  thumb- 
marks  thick  on  the  margin. 
Like  the  trample  of  feet,  proclaimed  the  battle 

was  hottest. 
Nothing  was  heard  iu  the  room  but  the  huiTy- 

ing  pen  of  the  stripling, 
Busily  writing  epistles  important,  to  go  by  the 

May  Flower, 
Ready  to  sail  on  the  morrow,  or  next  day  at 

latest,  God  willing ! 
Homeward  bound  with  the  tidings  of  all  that 

terrible  winter. 
Letters  written  by  Alden,  and  full  of  the  name 

of  Prisciila, 
Full  of  the  name  and  the  fame  of  the  Puritan 

maiden  Prisciila ! 


II. 

LOVE  AND  FRIENDSHIP. 

Nothing  was  lieard  in  the  room  but  the'hur- 
rying  pen  of  ilie  stripling, 

Or  an  occasional  sigh  from  the  laboring  heart 
of  the  Captain, 

Reading  the  marvellous  words  and  achieve- 
ments of  Julius  Caesar. 


14     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

After  a  while  he  exclaimed,  as  he  smote  with 

his  hand,  jjaliii  downwards, 
Heavily  on  the  page:  "A  wonderful  man  was 

this  Caesar ! 
You  are  a  writer,  and  I  am  a  fighter,  but  here 

is  a  fellow 
Who  could  both  write  and  fight,  and  in  both 

was  equally  skilful !  " 
Straightway  answered  and  spake  John  Alden, 

the  comely,  the  youthful: 
"  Yes,  he  was  equally  skilled,  as  you  say,  with 

his  pen  and  his  weapons. 
Somewhere  have  I  read,  but  where  I  forget, 

he  could  dictate 
Seven  letters  at  once,  at  the  same  time  writing 

his  memoirs." 
"Truly,"  continued  the  Captain,  not  heeding 

or  hearing  the  other,  — 
"Truly   a   wonderful  man  was  Caius   Julius 

Cffisar ! 
Better  be  first,  he  said,  in  a  little  Iberian  village; 
Than  be  second  in  Rome,  and  I  think  he  was 

right  when  he  said  it. 
Twice  was  he  married  before  be  was  twenty^ 

and  many  times  after; 
Battles  five  hundred  he  fought,  and  a  thousand 

cities  he  conquered ; 
He,  too,  fought  in  Plauders,  as  he  himself  lia> 

recorded ; 


LOVE    AND    FRIENDSHIP.  15 

Finally  he  was  slabbed  by  his  friend,  the  ora- 
tor Brutus ! 
Now,  do  you  kuow  what  he  did  on  a  certain 

occasion  iu  Flauders, 
When  the  rear-guard  of  his  army  retreated, 

the  front  giving  way  too. 
And  the  immortal  Twelfth  Legion  was  crowded 

so  closely  together 
There  was  no  room  for  their  swords  ?    Why, 

he  seized  a  shield  from  a  soldier. 
Put  himself  straight  at.the  head  of  his  troops, 

and  coiDuianded  the  captains. 
Calling  on  each  by  his  name,  to  order  forward 

the  eusigus ; 
Then  to  widen  the  ranks,  and  give  more  room 

for  their  weapons  ; 
So  he  won  the  day,  the  battle  of  something-or- 

other. 
That 's  what  I  always  say ;  if  you  wish  a  thing 

to  be  well  done. 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it 

to  others !  " 

All  was  sUent  again  ;  the  Captain  continued 
his  reading. 

Nothing  was  heard  in  the  room  but  the  hurry- 
ing pen  of  the  stripling 

Writing  epistles  important  to  go  next  day  by 
the  May  Flower, 


16  THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

rilled  with  the  name   and  the  fame  of  the 

Puritan  maiden  Priscilla; 
Every   sentence    began    or    closed   with  the 

name  of  Priscilla, 
Till  the  treacherous  pen,  to  which  he  confided 

the  secret. 
Strove  to  betray  it  by  singing  and  shouting  the 

name  of  Priscilla ! 
Piaally  closing  his  book,  with  a  bang  of  the 

ponderous  cover. 
Sudden  and   loud  as  the  sound  of  a  soldier 

grounding  his  musket, 
Thus  to  the  young  man  spake  Miles  Standish 

the  Captain  of  Plymouth : 
"  When  you  have  finished  your  work,  I  have 

something  important  to  tell  you. 
Be  not  however  in  haste ;  I  can  wait ;  I  shall 

not  be  impatient !  " 
Straightway  Alden  replied,  as  he  folded  the  last 

of  his  letters. 
Pushing  his  papers  aside,  and  giving  respect- 
ful attention : 
"  Speak ;  for  whenever  you  speak,  I  am  always 

ready  to  listen. 
Always  ready  to   hear  whatever  pertains  to 

Miles  Standish." 
Thereupon  answered  the  Captain,  embarrassed, 

and  culling  his  phrases : 


LOVE   AND    FRIENDSHIP.  17 

"  'T  is  not  good  for  a  man  to  be  alone,  say  the 

Scriptures. 
This  I  have  said  before,  and  again  and  again  I 

repeat  it ; 
Every  hour  in  the  day,  I  think  it,  and  feel  it, 

and  say  it. 
Since  Rose  Standish  died,  my  life  has  been 

weary  and  dreary. 
Sick  at  heart  have  I  been,  beyond  the  healing 

of  friendship. 
Oft  in  my  lonely  hours  have  I  thought  of  the 

maiden  Priscilla. 
She  is  alone  in  the  world;    her  father  and 

mother  and  brother 
Died  in  the  winter  together ;  I  saw  her  going 

and  coming, 
Now  to  the  grave  of  the  dead,  and  now  to  the 

bed  of  the  dying. 
Patient,  courageous,  and  strong,  and  said  to 

myself,  that  if  ever 
There  were  angels  on  earth,  as  there  are  angels 

in  heaven. 
Two  have  I  seen  and  known ;  and  the  angel 

whose  name  is  Priscilla 
Holds  in  my  desolate  Hfe  the  place  which  the 

other  abandoned. 
Long  have  I  cherished  tlie  thought,  but  never 
have  dared  to  reveal  it. 


18     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Being  a  coward  in  this,  tlioiigli  valiant  enough 

for  the  most  part. 
Go  to  the  damsel  Priscilla,  the  loveliest  maiden 

of  Plymouth, 
Say  that  a  blunt  old  Captain,  a  man  not  of 

•words  but  of  actions. 
Offers  his  hand  and  his  heart,  the  hand  and 

heart  of  a  soldier. 
Not  in  these  words,  you  know,  but  this  in  short 

is  my  meaning ; 
I  am  a  maker  of  war,  and  not  a  maker  of  phrases. 
You,  who  are  bred  as  a  scholar,  can  say  it  in 

elegant  language, 
Such  as  you  read  in  your  books  of  the  pleadings 

and  wooings  of  lovers. 
Such  as  you  think  best  adapted  to  win  the  heart 

of  a  maiden." 

When  he  had  spoken,  John  Alden,  the  fair- 
haired,  taciturn  stripling, 

AH  aghast  at  his  words,  surprised,  embarrassed, 
bewildered. 

Trying  to  mask  his  dismay  by  treating  the  sub- 
ject with  lightness. 

Trying  to  smile,  and  yet  feeling  his  heart  stand 
still  in  his  bosom, 

Just  as  a  timepiece  stops  in  a  house  that  is 
stricken  by  hghluing. 


LOVE    AND    FRIENDSHIP.  19 

Thus  made  answer  and  spake,  or  rather  stam- 
mered than  answered : 
"  Such  a  message  as  that,  I  am  sure  I  should 

mangle  and  mar  it ; 
If  you  would  have  it  well  done,  —  I  am  onlj 

repeating  your  maxim,  — 
You  must  do  it  yourself,  you  must  not  leave  it 

to  others ! " 
But  with  the  air  of  a  man  whom  nothing  can 

turn  from  his  purpose. 
Gravely  shaking  his  head,  made  answer  the 

Captain  of  Plymouth  : 
"Truly  the  maxim  is  good,  and  I  do  not  mean 

to  gainsay  it ; 
But  we  must  use  it  discreetly,  and  not  waste 

powder  for  nothing. 
Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  was  never  a  maker  of 

phrases. 
I  can  march  up  to  a  fortress  and  summon  the 

place  to  surrender. 
But  march  up  to  a  woman  with  such  a  pro- 
posal, I  dare  not. 
I  'ra  not  afraid  of  bullets,  nor  shot  from  the 

mouth  of  a  cannon. 
But  of  a  thundering  'No! '  point-blank  firora 

the  mouth  of  a  woman. 
That  I  confess  I  'm  afraid  of,  nor  am  I  ashamed 

to  confess  it ! 


20      THE  COUKTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

So  you  must  grant  my  request,  for  you  are  an 

elegant  scholar, 
Having  the  graces  of  speech,  and  skill  in  the 

turning  of  phrases." 
Taking  the  hand  of  his  friend,  who  still  was 

reluctant  and  doubtful, 
Holding  it  long  in  his  own,  and  pressing  it 

kindly,  he  added : 
"  Though  I  have  spoken  thus  lightly,  yet  deep 

is  the  feeling  that  prompts  me ; 
Surely  you  cannot  refuse  wliat  I  ask  in  the 

name  of  our  friendship  !  " 
Then  made  answer  John  Alden  :  "  The  name 

of  friendsliip  is  sacred ; 
What  you  demand  in  that  name,  I  have  not  the 

power  to  deny  you !  " 
So  the  strong  will  prevailed,  subduing  and 

moulding  the  gentler, 
Friendship  prevailed  over  love,  and  Alden  went 

on  his  errand. 


III. 

THE  LOVER'S  ERRAND. 

So  the  strong  will  prevailed,  and  Alden  went  on 

his  errand, 
Out  of  the  street  of  the  village,  and  into  the 

paths  of  the  forest, 


THE  lover's  errand.  23 

Into  the  traiwjiiil  woods,  where  bluebirds  and 

robins  were  building 
Towns  in  the  populous  trees,  with  hanging 

gardens  of  verdure. 
Peaceful,  aerial  cities  of  joy  and  affection  and 

freedom. 
All  around  him  was  calm,  but  within  him  com- 
motion and  conflict, 
Love  conteuding  with  friendship,  and  self  with 

each  generous  nnpulse. 
To  and  fro  in  his   breast  his  thoughts  were 

heaving  and  dashing, 
As  in  a  foundering  ship,  with  every  roll  of  the 

vessel. 
Washes  the  bitter  sea,  the  merciless  surge  of 

the  ocean ! 
"  Must  1  reliuquish  it  all,"  he  cried  with  a  wild 

lamentation,  — 
"  Must  I  reliuquish  it  all,  the  joy,  the  hope,  the 

illusion  ? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  loved,  and  waited,  and 

worshipped  in  silence  ? 
Was  it  for  this  I  have  followed  the  flying  feet 

and  the  shadow 
Over  the  wintry  sea,  to  the  desolate  shores  of 

New  England  ? 
Truly  the  heart  is  deceitful,  and  out  of  its  depths 

of  corruption 


•24:      THE  COUKTSniP  OF  MILES  STAXDISH. 

Rise,  like  an  exhalation,  the  misty  phantoms 
of  passion ; 

Angels  of  liglit  they  seem,  but  are  only  delu- 
sions of  Satan. 

All  is  clear  to  me  now ;  I  feel  it,  I  see  it  dis- 
tinctly ! 

This  is  the  hand  of  the  Lord ;  it  is  laid  upon 
me  in  anger, 

For  I  have  followed  too  much  the  heart's  de- 
sires and  devices, 

Worshipping  Astaroth  blindly,  and  impious 
idols  of  Baal. 

This  is  the  cross  I  must  bear;  the  sin  and  the 
swift  retribution." 

So  through  the  Plymouih  woods  John  Alden 

went  on  his  errand  ; 
Crossing  the  brook  at  tlie  ford,  where  it  brawled 

over  pebble  and  shallow, 
Gathering  still,  as  he  went,  the  May-flowers 

blooming  around  him, 
Fragrant,  tilling  the  air  with  a  strange  and 

wonderful  sweetness, 
Children  lost  in  the  woods,  and  covered  with 

leaves  in  their  slumber. 
"Puritan  flowers,"  he  said,  "and  the  type  of 

Puritan  maidens, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  the  very  type  of 

Priscilla ! 


THE    LOVER  S    ERRAND.  Zo 

So  I  will  take  them  to  her;  to  Priscilla  the 

May-flower  of  Plymouth, 
Modest  and  simple  and  sweet,  as  a  parting  gift 

will  I  take  them  ; 
Breathing  their  silent  farewells,  as  they  fade 

and  wither  and  perish. 
Soon  to  be  thrown  away  as  is  the  heart  of  the 

giver." 
So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  John  Alden 

went  on  his  errand ; 
Came  to  an  open  space,  and  saw  the  disk  of 

the  ocean, 
Sailless,  sombre  and  cold  with  the  comfortless 

breath  of  the  east-wind ; 
Saw  the  new-built  house,  and  people  at  work 

in  a  meadow ; 
Heard,  as  he  drew  near  the  door,  the  musical 

voice  of  Priscilla 
Singing  the  hundredth  Psalm,  the  grand  old 

Puritan  anthem. 
Music  that  Luther  sang  to  the  sacred  words  of 

the  Psalmist, 
Full  of  the  breath  of  the  Lord,  consoling  and 

comforting  many. 
Then,  as  he  opened  the  door,  he  beheld  the 

form  of  the  maiden 
Seated  beside  her  wheel,  and  the  carded  wool 

like  a  snow-drift 


26  THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Piled  at  her  knee,  lier  white  hands  feeding  the 

ravenous  spindle, 
While  with  her  foot  on  the  treadle  she  guided 

the  wheel  in  its  motion. 
Open  wide  on  her  hip  lav  the  well  worn  psalm- 
book  of  Ainswortli, 
Printed  in  Amsterdam,  the  words  and  the  music 

togetlier. 
Rough-hewn,  angular  notes,  like  stones  in  the 

wall  of  a  cluircliyard. 
Darkened  and  overhung  by  the  running  vine  of 

the  verses. 
Such  was  the  book  from  whose  pages  she  sang 

tlie  old  Puritan  anthem. 
She,  the  Puritan  girl,  in  the  solitude  of  the 

forest, 
Making  the  humble  house  and  the  modest  ap- 
parel of  homespun 
Beautiful  with  her  beauty,  and  rich  with  the 

wealth  of  her  being  ! 
Over  him  rushed,  like  a  wind  that  is  keen  and 

cold  and  relentless, 
Thoughts  of  wliat  might  liave  been,  and  the 

weight  and  woe  of  his  errnnd  ; 
All  the  dreams  I  iiat  iiad  faded,  and  all  the  hopes 

that  had  vani.shed, 
All  his  life  henceforth  a  dreary  and  teuaullesar 

mansion, 


THE  lover's  errand.  29 

Haunted  by  vain  regrets,  and  pallid,  sorrowful 
faces. 

Still  he  said  to  himself,  and  almost  fiercely  he 
said  it, 

"  Let  not  him  that  putteth  his  hand  to  the 
plough  look  backwards ; 

Though  the  ploughshare  cut  through  the  flow- 
ers of  life  to  its  fountains. 

Though  it  pass  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  and 
the  hearths  of  the  living, 

It  is  the  will  of  the  Lord ;  and  his  mercy  en- 
dureth  forever  1 " 

So  he  entered  the  house:  and  the  hum  of 
the  wheel  and  the  singing  » 

Suddenly  ceased ;  for  Priscilla,  aroused  by  his 
step  on  the  threshold. 

Rose  as  he  entered,  and  gave  him  her  hand,  in 
signal  of  welcome. 

Saying,  "  I  knew  it  was  you,  when  I  heard  your 
step  in  the  passage ; 

For  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  I  sat  there  sing- 
ing and  spinning." 

Awkward  and  dumb  with  delight,  that  a  thought 
of  him  had  been  mingled 

Thus  in  the  sacred  psalm,  that  came  from  the 
heart  of  the  maiden. 

Silent  before  her  he  stood,  and  gave  her  the 
flowers  for  an  answer, 


30  THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Fiudiug  no  words  for  liis  t.liouglit.  He  re- 
membered that  day  in  the  winter. 

After  the  first  great  snow,  when  he  broke  a 
path  from  tlie  village, 

Reeling  and  plunging  along  through  the  drifts 
that  encumbered  tlie  doorway, 

Stamping  the  snow  from  his  feet  as  he  entered 
the  house,  and  Priscilla 

Laughed  at  iiis  snowy  locks,  and  gave  him  a 
seat  by  the  fireside,        • 

Grateful  and  pleased  to  know  he  bad  tbougbt 
of  her  in  tiie  snow-storm. 

Had  he  but  spoken  then  !  perhaps  not  in  vain" 
had  he  spoken ; 

Now  it  was  all  too  lute ;  the  golden  moment 
bad  vanished ! 

So  he  stood  there  abashed,  and  gave  her  the 
flowers  for  an  answer. 

Then  they  sat  down  and  talked  of  the  birds 

and  the  beautiful  Spring-time, 
Talked  of  their  friends  at  home,  and  the  May 

Flower  tliat  sailed  on  the  morrow. 
"I  have  been  thinking  all  day,"  said  gently 

the  Puritan  maiden, 
"Dreaming  all  night,  and  thinking  all  day,  of 

tlie  hedge-rows  of  England,  — 
They  are  in  blossom  now,  and  the  country  is 

all  like  a  garden; 


THE   lover's   EERAND.  31 

Thinking  of  lanes  and  fields,  and  the  song  of 

the  lark  and  the  linnet, 
Seeing  the  village  street,  and  familiar  faces  of 

neighbors 
Going  about  as  of  old,  and  stopping  to  gossip 

together. 
And,  at  the  end  of  the  street,  the  village  church, 

with  the  ivy 
Climbing  tlie  old  gray  tower,  and  the  quiet 

graves  in  the  churchyard. 
Kind  are  the  people  I  live  with,  and  dear  to 

me  my  religion;  " 

Still  my  heart  is  so  sad,  that  I  wish  myself 

back  in  Old  England. 
You  will  say  it  is  wrong,  but  I  cannot  help  it : 

I  almost 
Wish  myself  back  in  Old  England,  1  feel  so 

lonely  and  wretched." 

Thereupon  answered  the  youth :  "  Indeed  I 

do  not  condemn  you ; 
Stouter  hearts  tljan  a  woman's  have  quailed  in 

this  terrible  winter. 
Yours  is  tender  and   trusting,  and  needs  a 

stronger  to  lean  on; 
So  I  have  come  to  you  now,  with  an  offer  and 

proffer  of  marriage 
Made  by  a  good  man  and  true,  Miles  Standish 

the  Captain  of  Plymouth  !  " 


32     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Thus  he  delivered  liis  message,  the  dexter- 
ous writer  of  letters,  — 

Did  not  embellish  the  theme,  nor  array  it  in 
beautiful  plirases. 

But  came  straight  to  the  point,  and  blurted  it 
out  like  a  school-boy ; 

Even  the  Captain  himself  could  hardly  have 
said  it  more  bluntly. 

Mute  with  amazement  and  sorrow,  Priscilla  the 
Puritan  maiden 

Looked  into  Alden's  face,  her  eyes  dilated  with 
wonder, 

Feeling  liis  words  like  a  blow,  that  stunned 
her  and  rendered  her  speechless ; 

TUl  at  length  she  exclaimed,  interrupting  the 
ominous  silence : 

"  If  the  great  Captain  of  Plymouth  is  so  xerj 
eager  to  wed  me. 

Why  does  he  not  come  himself,  and  take  the 
trouble  to  woo  me  ? 

If  I  am  not  worth  the  wooing,  I  surely  am  not 
worth  the  winning  !  " 

Then  John  Alden  began  explaining  and  smooth- 
ing the  matter, 

Making  it  worse  as  he  went,  by  saying  the  Cap- 
tain was  busy,  — 

Had  no  time  for  sucli  things;  —  such  thingsJ 
the  words  grating  harslily 


THE  lover's  errand.  33 

Fell  on  the  ear  of  Priscilla ;  and  swift  as  a  flash 
she  made  answer: 

"Has  no  time  for  such  tilings,  as  you  call  it, 
before  he  is  married, 

Would  he  be  likely  to  find  it,  or  make  it,  after 
the  wedding  ? 

That  is  the  way  with  you  men ;  you  don't  un- 
derstand us,  you  cannot. 

When  you  have  made  up  your  minds,  after 
thinking  of  this  one  and  that  one, 

Choosing,  selecting,  rejecting,  comparing  one 
with  another, 

Then  you  make  known  your  desire,  with  abrupt 
and  sudden  avowal. 

And  are  oflended  and  hurt,  and  indignant  per- 
haps, that  a  woman 
.  Does  not  respond  at  once  to  a  love  that  she 
never  suspected. 

Does  not  attain  at  a  bound  the  height  to  which 
you  have  been  climbing. 

This  is  not  right  nor  just :  for  surely  a  wo- 
man's affection 

Is  not  a  thing  to  be  asked  for,  and  had  for  only 
the  asking. 

When  one  is  truly  in  love,  one  not  only  says 
it,  but  shows  it. 

Had  he  but  waited  awhile,  had  he  only  showed 
that  he  loved  me, 


34     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Even  this  Captain  of  yours  —  who  knows  ?  — 

at  last  might  have  won  me, 
Old  and  rough  as  he  is ;  but  now  it  never  can 

happen." 

Still  John  Alden  went  on,  unheeding  the 
words  of  Priscilla, 

Urging  the  suit  of  his  friend,  explaining,  per- 
suading, expanding; 

Spoke  of  his  courage  and  skill,  and  of  all  his 
battles  in  Flanders, 

How  with  the  people  of  God  he  had  chosen  to 
suffer  affliction. 

How,  in  return  for  his  zeal,  they  had  made  him 
Captain  of  Plymouth ; 

He  was  a  gentleman  born,  could  trace  his  pedi- 
gree plainly 

Back  to  Hugh  Standish  of  Duxbury  Hall,  in 
Lancashire,  England, 

Who  was  the  son  of  Ralph,  and  the  grandson 
of  Thurston  de  Standish  ; 

Heir  unto  vast  estates,  of  which  he  was  basely 
defrauded. 

Still  bore  the  family  arms,  and  had  for  his  crest 
a  cock  argent 

Combed  and  wattled  gules,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  blazon. 


THE    LOVEKS    EKKAND.  35 

He  was  a  man  of  honor,  ol"  noble  and  generous 

nature ; 
Tliougli  he  was  rough,  he  was  kindly ;  she  knew 

how  during  the  winter 
He  had  attended  the  sick,  with  a  band  as  gen- 
tle as  woman's ; 
Somewiiat  hasty  and  hot,  he  could  not  deny  it, 

and  headstrong, 
Stern  as  a  soldier  might  be,  but  hearty,  and 

placable  always, 
Not  to  be  laughed  at  and  scorned,  because  he 

was  little  of  stature ; 
For  he   was   great    of    heart,   magnanimous, 

courtly,  courageous ; 
Any  woman  in  Plymouth,  nay,  any  woman  in 

Englaud, 
Might  be  happy  and  proud  to  be  called  the 

wife  of  Miles  Staudish ! 

But  as  he  warmed  and  glowed,  in  his  simple 
and  eloquent  language. 

Quite  forgetful  of  self,  and  full  of  the  praise  of 
his  rival. 

Archly  the  maiden  smiled,  and,  with  eyes  over- 
running with  laughter, 

Said,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "Wliy  don't  you 
speak  for  yourself,  John  ?  " 


36      THJi  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

IV. 

JOHN  ALDEN. 

Into  the  open  air  John  Aldeu,  perplexed  and 

bewildered, 
Rushed  like  a  man  insane,  and  wandered  alone 

by  tlie  seaside ; 
Paced  up  and  down  the  sands,  and  bared  his 

head  to  the  east-wind. 
Cooling  his  heated  brow,  and  the  fire  and  fever 

within  him. 
Slowly  as  out  of  the  heavens,  with  apocalypti- 
cal splendors, 
Sank  the  City  of  God,  in  the  vision  of  John  the 

Apostle, 
So,  with  its  cloudy  walls  of  chrysolite,  jasper, 

and  sapphire, 
Sank  the  broad  red  sun,  and  over  its  turrets 

uplifted 
Glimmered  the  golden  reed  of  the  angel  who 

measured  the  city. 

"  Welcome,  0  wind  of  the  East ! "  he  ex- 
claimed in  his  wild  exultation,  — 

"  Welcome,  O  wind  of  the  East,  from  the  caves 
of  the  misty  Atlantic ! 

Blowing  o'er  fields  of  dulse,  and  measureless 
meadows  of  sea-grass, 


JOHN    ALDEX.  37 

Blowing  o'er  rocky  wastes,  and  the  grottos  and 
gardens  of  ocean ! 

Lay  thy  cold,  moist  band  on  my  burning  fore- 
head, and  wrap  me 

Close  in  thy  garments  of  mist,  to  allay  the  fever 
within  me ! " 

Like  an  awakened  conscience,  the  sea  was 

moaning  and  tossing. 
Beating  remorseful  and  loud  the  mutable  sands 

of  the  sea-shore. 
Tierce  in  liis  soul  was  the  struggle  and  tumult 

of  passions  contending ; 
Love  triumphant  and  crowned,  and  friendship 

wounded  and  bleeding, 
Passionate  cries  of  desire,  and  importunate 

pleadings  of  duty ! 
"  Is  it  my  fault,"  he  said,  "  that  the  maiden  has 

chosen  between  us  ? 
Is  it  my  fault  that  he  failed,  —  my  feult  that  I 

am  the  victor?  " 
Then  within  him  there  thundered  a  voice,  like 

the  voice  of  the  Prophet : 
"  It  hath  displeased  the  Lord !  "  —  and  he 

thought  of  David's  transgression, 
Bathsheba's  beautiful  face,  and  lus  friend  in  the 

front  of  the  battle  ! 


38      THE  CUUUXyHIP  OF  MILKS  STANDISH. 

Shame  and  confusion  of  guilt,  and  abasement 
and  self-condemnation, 

Overwhelmed  him  at  once  ;  and  he  cried  in  the 
deepest  contrition  : 

"  It  hath  displeased  the  Lord  !  It  is  the  temp- 
tation of  Satan ! " 

Then,  nplifting  his  head,  he  looked  at  the  sea, 

and  beheld  there 
Dimly  the  sliadowy  form  of  the  May  Elower 

riding  at  anchor, 
Rocked  on  the  rising  tide,  and  ready  to  sail  on 

the  morrow ; 
Heard  the  voices  of  men  through  the  mist,  the 

rattle  of  cordage 
Thrown  on  the  deck,  the  shouts  of  the  mate, 

and  the  sailors'  "  Ay,  ay,  Sir  !  " 
Clear  and  distinct,  but  not  loud,  in  the  drip- 
ping air  of  the  twilight. 
Still  for  a  moment  he  stood,  and  listened,  and 

stared  at  the  vessel. 
Then  went  hurriedly  on,  as  one  who,  seeing  a 

phantom, 
Stops,  then  quickens  his  pace,  and  follows  the 

beckoning  shadow. 
"  Yes,  it  is  plain  to  me  now,"  he  murmured ; 

"  the  hand  of  the  Lord  is 
Leading  me  out  of  the  land  of  darkness,  the 

bondage  of  error. 


JOHN    ALBEN.  41 

Through  the   sea,  that  shall  lift  the  walls  of 

its  waters  around  me. 
Hiding  me,    cutting  me  off,   from  tlie  cruel 

thoughts  that  pursue  me. 
Back  will  I  go  o'er  the  ocean,  this  dreary  land 

will  abandon. 
Her  whom  1  may  not  love,  and  him  whom  my 

heart  has  offended. 
Eetter  to  be  in  my  grave   in  the   green  old 

churchyard  in  England, 
Close   by  my  mother's   side,  and  among  tbe 

dust  of  my  kindred ; 
Better  be  dead  and  forgotten,  than  living  in 

shame  and  dishonor ! 
Sacred  and  safe  and  unseen,  in  the  dark  of  the 

narrow  chamber 
With  me  my  secret  shall  lie,  like  a  buried  jewel 

that  glimmers 
Bright  on  the  hand  that  is  dust,  in  the  chambers 

of  silence  and  darkness,  — 
Yes,  as  the  marriage  ring  of  the  great  espousal 

hereafter ! " 

Thus  as  he  spake  he  turned,  in  the  strength 

of  his  strong  resolution. 
Leaving  behind   him   the  shore,  and  hurried 

along  in  the  twilight. 
Through  the   congenial  gloom   of  the  forest 

silent  and  sombre, 


42      THE  COUKTSHIP  Of  MILES  STANDISH. 

Till  he  beheld  the  lights  in  the  seven  houses  of 
Plymouth, 

Shining  like  seven  stars  in  the  dusk  and  mist 
of  tlie  evening. 

Soon  he  entered  his  door,  and  found  the  re- 
doubtable Captain 

Sitting  alone,  and  absorbed  in  the  martial  pages 
of  Cffisar, 

Fighting  some  great  campaign  in  Hainault  oi 
Brabant  or  Flanders. 

"Long  have  you  been  on  your  errand,"  he  said 
with  a  cheery  demeanor, 

Even  as  one  who  is  waiting  an  answer,  and 
fears  not  the  issue. 

"  Not  far  off  is  the  house,  although  the  woods 
are  between  us ; 

But  you  have  lingered  so  long,  that  while  you 
were  going  and  coming 

I  have  fought  ten  battles  and  sacked  and  de- 
molished a  city. 

Come,  sit  down,  and  in  order  relate  to  me  all 
that  has  happened." 

Then  John    Alden  spake,   and  related  the 

wondrous  adventure, 
From  beginning  to  end,  minutely,  just  as  it 

happened ; 
How  he  had  seen  Priscilla,  and  how  he  had  sped 

in  his  courtship. 


JOHN    ALDEN.  43 

Only  smoothing  a  little,  and  softening  down 
her  refusal. 

But   wlieu   he  came   at  length  to   the  words 

Priscilla  had  spoken. 
Words  so  tender  and  cruel :  "  Why  don't  you 
speak  for  yourself,  John  ?  " 

Up  leaped  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and  stamped 
on  the  floor,  till  his  armor 

Clanged  on  the  wall,  where  it  hung,  with  a 
sound  of  sinister  omen. 

All  his  pent-up  wrath  burst  forth  in  a  sudden 
explosion. 

E'en  as  a  Iiand-grenade,  that  scatters  destruc- 
tion around  it. 

Wildly  he  shouted  and  loud  :  "  John  Alden ! 
you  have  betrayed  me  ! 

Me,  Miles  Standisli,   your  friend !  have   sup- 
planted, defrauded,  betrayed  me ! 

One  of  my  ancestors  ran  his  sword  through  the 
heart  of  Wat  Tyler; 

Who  shall  prevent  me  from  running  my  own 
through  the  heart  of  a  traitor? 

Yours   is  the  greater  treason,  for  yours  is  a 
treason  to  friendship ! 

You,  who  lived  under  my  roof,  whom  I  cher- 
ished  and  loved  as  a  brother  ; 

You,  who  have  fed  at  my  board,  and  drunk  at 
my  cup,  to  whose  keeping 


44      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

I  have  intrusted  my  lioiior,  my  thoughts  the 

most  sacred  and  secret, — 
You   too,    Brutus !    ah  woe  to   the  name  of 

friendship  hereafter  ! 
Brutus  was  Caesar's  friend,  and  you  were  mine, 

but  henceforward 
Let  there  be  nothing  between  us  save  war,  and 

implacable  hatred !  " 

So  spake  the  Captain  of  Plymouth,  and  strode 

about  in  the  cliamber. 
Chafing  and  choking  witli  rage ;  like  cords  were 

the  veins  on  his  temples. 
But  in  the  midst  of  his  anger  a  man  appeared 

at  the  doorway. 
Bringing  in  uttermost  haste  a  message  of  urgent 

importance. 
Rumors  of  danger  and  war  and  hostile  incur- 
sions of  Indians ! 
Straightway  the  Captain  paused,  and,  without 

further  question  or  parley. 
Took  from  the  nail  on  the  wall  his  sword  with 

its  scabbard  of  iron, 
Buckled  the  belt  round  his  waist,  and,  frowning 

fiercely,  departed. 
Alden  was  left  alone.     He  heard  the  clank  of 

tlie  scabbard 
Growing  fainter  and  fainter,  and  dying  away  in 

the  distance. 


JOHN    ALDEN.  45 

Then  he  arose  from  his  seat,  and  looked  forth 

into  the  darkness. 
Felt  the  cool  air  blow  on  his  cheek,  that  was 

hot  with  the  insult. 
Lifted  his  eyes  to  the  heavens,  and,  folding  his 

hands  as  in  childliood, 
Prayed  in  tlie  silence  of  night  to  the  Father 

who  seetli  in  secret. 

Meanwhile  the  choleric  Captain  strode  wrath- 
ful away  to  the  council, 

Found  it  already  assembled,  impatiently  wait- 
ing his  coining  ; 

Men  in  the  middle  of  life,  austere  and  grave  in 
deportment. 

Only  one  of  them  old,  the  hill  that  was  nearest 
to  heaven, 

Covered  with  snow,  but  erect,  the  excellent 
Elder  of  Plymouth. 

God  had  sifted  three  kingdoms  to  find  the 
wheat  for  this  planting. 

Then  had  sifted  the  wheat,  as  the  living  seed 
of  a  nation ; 

.80  say  the  chronicles  old,  and  such  is  the  faith 
of  the  people  ! 

Near  them  was  standing  an  Indian,  in  attitude 
stern  and  defiant. 

Naked  down  to  the  waist,  and  grim  and  fero- 
einns  in  aspect ; 


46      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Wliils  on  the  table  before  tliem  was  lying  un- 
opened a  Bible, 

Ponderous,  bound  in  leather,  brass-studded, 
printed  in  Holland, 

And  beside  it  outstretched  the  skin  of  a  rattle- 
snake glittered. 

Filled,  like  a  quiver,  with  arrows  ;  a  signal  and 
challenge  of  warfare, 

Brought  by  the  Indian,  and  speaking  M'ith 
arrowy  tongues  of  defiance. 

This  Miles  Standish  beheld,  as  he  entered,  and 
heard  them  debating 

What  were  an  answer  befitting  the  hostile 
messnge  and  menace. 

Talking  of  this  and  of  that,  contriving,  sug- 
gesting, objecting ; 

One  voice  only  for  peace,  and  that  the  voice  of 
the  Elder, 

Judging  it  wise  and  well  that  some  at  least  were 
converted. 

Rather  than  any  were  slain,  for  this  was  but 
Christian  behavior ! 

Then  out  spake  Miles  Standish,  the  stalwart 
Captain  of  Plymouth, 

Muttering  deep  in  his  throat,  for  his  voice  was 
husky  with  anger, 

"  Wliat !  do  you  mean  to  make  war  with  milk 
and  the  water  of  roses  ? 


JOHX    ALDEN.  47 

Is  it  to  shoot  red  squirrels  you  have  your  how- 
itzer planted 

There  on  the  roof  of  the  church,  or  is  it  to 
shoot  red  devils  ? 

Truly  the  only  tougue  that  is  understood  by  a 
savage 

Must  be  the  tongue  of  fire  that  speaks  from  the 
mouth  of  the  cannon !  " 

Thereupon   answered   and  said  the  excellent 
Elder  of  Plymouth, 

Somewhat  amazed  and  alarmed  at  this  irrever- 
ent language.: 

"Not  so  thought  Saiut  Paul,  nor  yet  the  other 
Apostles ; 

Not  from  the  cannon's  mouth  were  the  tongues 
of  fire  they  spake  with  !  " 

But  unheeded  fell  this  mild  rebuke  on  the 
Captain, 

Who  had  advanced  to  the  table,  and  thus  con- 
tinued discoursing : 

"Leave  this  matter  to  me,  for  to  me  by  right 
it  pertaineth. 

War  is  a  terrible  trade ;  but  in  the  cause  that 
is  rightenns, 

Sweet  is  the  smell  of  powder ;  and  thus  I  an- 
swer the  challenge ! " 

Then  from  the   rattlesnake's   skin,  with  a 
sudden,  contemptuous  gesture. 


48     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Jerking  the  Indian  arrows,  he  filled  it  with 
powder  and  bullets 

T"ull  to  the  very  jaws,  and  handed  it  back  to  the 
savage, 

Saying,  in  thundering  tones  :  "Here,  take  it ! 
this  is  your  answer !  " 

Silently  out  of  the  room  then  glided  the  glis- 
tening savage. 

Bearing  the  serpent's  skiu,  and  seeming  him- 
self like  a  serpent, 

Winding  his  sinuous  way  in  the  dark  to  the 
depths  of  the  forest. 

V. 

THE  SA1LIK6  OF  THE  MAY  FLOWEU. 

Just  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn,  as  the  mists  up- 
rose from  the  meadows. 

There  was  a  stir  and  a  sound  in  the  slumbering 
village  of  PlymonUi ; 

Clanging  and  clicking  of  arms,  and  the  order 
imperative,  "  Forward  !  " 

Given  in  tone  suppressed,  a  tramp  of  feet,  and 
then  silence. 

Figures  ten,  in  the  mist,  marched  slowly  out  of 
the  village. 

Standish  the  stalwart  it  was,  with  eight  of  his 
valorous  army. 


THB  SAILING  OF  THE  MAY  FLOWKK.       -19 

Led  by  their  Indian  gviide,  by  Hobomok,  friend 
of  the  white  men, 

Northward  marching  to  quell  the  sudden  revolt 
of  the  savage. 

Giants  they  seemed  in  the  mist,  or  the  mighty 
men  of  King  David ; 

Giants  in  heart  they  were,  who  believed  in  God 
and  the  Bible,  — 

Ay,  who  believed  in  the  smiting  of  Midianites 
and  Philistines. 

Over  them  gleamed  far  off  the  crimson  banners 
of  morning ; 

Under  them  loud  on  the  sands,  the  serried  bil- 
lows, advancing, 

Fired  along  the  line,  and  in  regular  order  re- 
treated. 

Many  a  mile  had  they  marched,  when  at 
length  the  village  of  Plymouth 

TToke  from  its  sleep,  and  arose,  intent  on  its 
manifold  labors. 

Sweet  was  the  air  and  soft;  and  slowly  the 
smoke  fi"om  the  cliimneys 

Rose  over  roofs  of  ihatch,  and  pointed  steadily 
eastward ; 

Men  came  forth  from  the  doors,  and  paused 
and  talksd  of  the  weather, 

Said  that  the  wind  had  changed,  and  was  blow- 
ing fair  for  the  May  Flower ; 


50     THE  COUllTSHIP  OF  MILES  STAN  DISH. 

Talked  of  tlieir  Captain's  departure,  aud  all  the 

dangers  that  meuaced, 
He  being  gone,  the  town,  and  what  should  be 

done  in  his  absence. 
Merrily  sang  the  birds,  aud  the  tender  voices 

of  women 
Consecrated  with  hymns  the  common  cares  of 

the  housshold. 
Out  of  the  sea  rose  the  sun,  and  the  billows 

rejoiced  at  his  coming; 
Beautiful  were  his  feet  on  the  purple  tops  of 

the  mountains ; 
Beautiful  on  the  sails  of  the  May  Flower  riding 

at  anchor, 
Battered  and  blackened  and  w^orn  by  all  the 

storms  of  the  winter. 
Loosely  against  her  masts  was  hanging  and 

flapping  her  canvas. 
Rent  by  so  many  gales,  and  patched  by  the 

hands  of  the  sailors. 
Suddenly  from  her  side,  as  the  sun  rose  over 

the  ocean. 
Darted  a  puff  of  smoke,  and  floated  seaward  ; 

anon  rang 
Loud  over  field  and  forest  the  cannon's  roar, 

and  the  echoes 
Heard  and  repeated  the  sound,  the  signal-gun 
of  departure ! 


THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAY  FLOWER.       51 

All !  but  with  louder  echoes  replied  the  hearts 

of  the  people ! 
Meekly,  iu  voices  subdued,  the  chapter  was 

read  I'roin  tlie  Bible, 
Meekly  the  prayer  was  begun,  but  ended  in 

fervent  entreaty ! 
Then  from  their  iiouses  in  haste  came  forth  the 

Pilgrims  of  Plymouth, 
Men  and  women  and  children,  all  hurrying 

down  to  tlie  sea-shore. 
Eager,  with  tearful  eyes,  to  say  farewell  to  the 

May  "Flower, 
Homeward  bound  o'er  the  sea,  and  leaving 

them  here  in  the  desert. 

Foremost  among  them  was  Alden.  All  night 
he  had  lain  without  slumber. 

Turning  and  tossing  about  in  the  heat  and  un- 
rest of  liis  fever. 

He  had  beheld  Miles  Standish,  who  came  back 
late  from  the  council, 

Stalking  into  the  room,  and  heard  him  mutter 
and  murmur. 

Sometimes  it  seemed  a  prayer,  and  sometimes 
it  sounded  like  swearing. 

Once  he  had  come  to  the  bed,  and  stood  there 
a  moment  in  silence ; 

Then  he  turned  away,  and  said :  "I  will  not 
awake  him  ; 


52  THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Let  him  sleep  on,  it  is  best ;  for  what  is  the 
use  of  more  talking !  " 

Then  he  extinguished  the  liglit,  and  threw  him- 
self down  on  his  pallet, 

Dressed  as  he  was,  and  ready  to  start  at  the 
break  of  the  moruing,  — 

Covered  himself  with  the  cloak  he  had  worn  in 
his  campaigns  in  Tlanders,  — 

Slept  as  a  soldier  sleeps  in  his  bivouac,  ready 
for  action. 

But  with  the  dawn  he  arose ;  in  the  twilight 
Alden  beheld  him 

Put  on  his  corselet  of  steel,  and  all  the  rest  of 
his  armor, 

Buckle  about  his  waist  his  trusty  blade  of  Da- 
mascus, 

Take  from  the  corner  his  musket,  and  so  stride 
out  of  the  chamber. 

Often  the  heart  of  the  youth  had  burned  and 
yearned  to  embrace  him, 

Often  his  lips  had  essayed  to  speak,  imploring 
for  pardon ; 

AH  the  old  friendship  came  back,  with  its  ten- 
der and  grateful  emotions ; 

But  his  pride  overmastered  the  nobler  nature 
within  him,  — 

Piide,  and  the  sense  of  his  wrong,  and  the 
burning  fire  of  the  insult. 


THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAY  FLOWER.       53 

So  he  beheld  his  friend  departing  in  anger,  but 

spake  not, 
Saw  him  go  forth  to  danger,  perhaps  to  death, 

and  he  spake  not ! 
Then  he  arose  from  liis  bed,  and  heard  what 

the  people  were  saying, 
Joined  in  the  talk  at  the  door,  with  Stephen 

and  Richard  and  Gilbert, 
Joined  in  the  morning  prayer,  and  in  the  read- 
ing of  Scripture, 
And,  with  the  others,  in  haste  went  hurrying 

down  to  the  sea-shore, 
Down  to  the  Plymouth  Rock,  that  had  been  to 

their  feet  as  a  doorstep 
Into  a  world  unknown,  —  the  corner-stone  of 

a  nation! 

There  with  his  boat  was  the  Master,  already 
a  little  impatient 

Lest  he  should  lose  the  tide,  or  the  wind  might 
shift  to  the  eastwo.rd. 

Square-built,  hearty,  and  strong,  with  an  odor 
of  ocean  about  him. 

Speaking  with  this  one  and  that,  and  cram- 
ming letters  and  parcels 

Into  his  pockets  capacious,  and  messages  min- 
gled together 

Into  his  narrow  brain,  till  at  last  he  was 
wholly  bewildered. 


54     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STAXDISH. 

Nearer  the  boat  stood  Alden,  with  one  foot 

placsd  on  the  gunwale. 
One  still  firm  on  the  rock,  and  talking  at  times 

with  the  sailors, 
Seated  erect  on  the  tlnvarts,  all  ready  and  eager 

for  starting. 
He  too  was  eager  to  go,  and  thus  put  an  end 

to  his  anguish. 
Thinking  to  fly  from  despair,  that  swifter  than 

keel  is  or  canvas, 
Thinking  to  drown  in  the  sea  the  ghost  that 

would  rise  and  pursue  him. 
But  as  he  gazed  on  the  crowd,  he  beheld  the 

form  of  Priscilla 
Standing  dsjected  among  them,  unconscious  of 

all  that  was  passing. 
Fixed  were  her  eyes  upon  his,  as  if  she  divined 

his  intention, 
Fixed  with  a  look  so  sad,  so  reproachful,  im- 
ploring, and  patient, 
That  with  a  sudden  revulsion  his  heart  recoiled 

from  its  purpose. 
As  from  the  verge  of  a  crag,  where  one  step 

more  is  destruction. 
Strange  is  the  heart  of  man,  with  its  quick, 

mysterious  instincts! 
Strange  is  the  life  of  man»  and  fatal  or  fated 

are  moments. 


V 


THE  SAILING  OF  THE   MAY   FLOWER.       57 

Whereupon  turn,  as  on  liinges,  the  gates  of  tlie 

wall  adamantine ! 
"  Here  I  remain  !  "  lie  exclaimed,  as  he  looked 

at  the  heavens  above  liim. 
Thanking  the  Lord  whose  breat  h  had  scattered 

the  mist  and  the  madness. 
Wherein,  blind  a:.id  lost,  to  death  he  was  stag- 
gering headlong. 
"Yonder  snow-wliite  cloud,  that  floats  in  the 

ether  above  me. 
Seems  like  a  hand  that  is  pointing  and  beckon- 
ing over  the  ocean. 
There  is  another  hand,  that  is  not  so  spectral 

and  ghost-like, 
Holding  me,  drawing  me  back,  and  clasping 

mine  for  protection. 
Float,  0  hand  of  cloud,  and  vanish  away  in  the 

ether ! 
Roll  tliyself  up  like  a  fist,  to  threaten  and 

daunt  me  ;  I  heed  not 
Either  your  warning  or  menace,  or  any  omen 

of  evil ! 
Tliere  is  no  land  so  sacred,  no  air  so  pure  and 

so  wliolesome. 
As  is  the  air  she  breathes,  and  the  soil  that  is 

pressed  by  her  footsteps. 
Here  for  her  sake  will  I  stay,  and  like  an 

invisible  pi-esence 


58      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STAXDISH. 

Hover  around  her  forever,  protecting,  support- 
ing her  weakness ; 

Yes !  as  my  foot  was  the  first  that  stepped  on 
tliis  rock  at  the  landing, 

So,  with  tlie  blessing  of  God,  shall  it  be  the 
last  at  the  leaving !  " 

Meanwhile  the  Master  alert,  but  with  digni- 
fied air  and  important, 

Scanning  with  watchful  eye  the  tide  and  the 
wind  and  the  weather. 

Walked  about  on  the  sands,  and  the  people 
crowded  around  him 

Saying  a  few  last  words,  and  enforcing  his 
careful  remembraaee. 

Then,  taking  each  by  the  hand,  as  if  he  were 
grasping  a  tiller. 

Into  the  boat  he  sprang,  and  in  haste  shoved 
off  to  his  vessel. 

Glad  in  his  heart  to  get  rid  of  all  this  worry 
and  flurry, 

Glad  to  be  gone  from  a  land  of  sand  and  sick- 
ness and  sorrow. 

Short  alloM-nnee  of  victual,  and  plenty  of  noth- 
ing but  Gospel  ! 

Lost  in  the  sound  of  the  oars  was  the  last  fare- 
well of  the  Pilgrims. 

0  strong  hearts  and  true  !  not  one  went  back 
in  the  Mav  Flower  I 


THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAY  FLOWER.       OVJ 

No,  not  one  looked  bade,  who  had  set  his  hand 
to  this  ploughing ! 

Soon  -were  heard  on  board  the  shouts  and 

sonr^s  of  the  sailors 
Heaviujj  the  windlass  round,  and  hoisting  the 

ponderous  anchor. 
Thou  the  yards  were  braced,  and  all  sails  set 

to  the  west -wind, 
Blowing   steady   and   strong;    and  the   May 

Flower  sailed  from,  the  harbor, 
Koundcd  the  point  of  the  Gurnet,  and  leaving 

far  to  the  southward 
Island  and  cape  of  sand,  and  the  lield  of  the 

rirst  Encounter, 
Took  the  wind  on  her  quarter,  and  stood  for 

the  open  Atlantic, 
Borne  on  the  send  of  the  sea,  and  the  swelling 

hearts  of  the  Pilgrims. 

Long  in  silence  they  watched  the  receding 

sail  of  the  vessel, 
Much  endeared  to  them  all,  as  something  living 

and  human ; 
Then,  as  if  filled  with  the  spirit,  and  wrapt  in 

a  vision  prophetic. 
Baring  his  hoary  head,  the  excellent  Elder  of 

Plvmouth 


60     THE  COURTSHIP  OP  MILES  STANDISH. 

Said,  "Lef  us  pray!  "  and  tliey  prayed,  aud 

thanked  tlie  Lord  and  look  counige. 
Mournfully  sobbed  the  waves  at  the  base  of 

tha  rock,  and  above  them 
Bowed  and  whispered  the  wheat  on  the  h'.U  of 

death,  and  their  kindred 
Seemed  to  awake  in  their  graves,  and  to  join 

in  the  prayer  tlial  they  uttered. 
Sun-illumined  and  wliile,  on  the  eastern  verge 

of  the  ocean 
Gleamed  the  departing  sail,  like  a  marble  slab 

in  a  graveyard  ; 
Buried  beneath  it  lay  forever  all  hope  of  escap- 
ing. 
Lo !  as  they  turned  to  depart,  they  saw  the 

form  of  an  Indian, 
Watching  them  from  the  hill;  but  while  they 

spake  with  each  other. 
Pointing  with  outstretched  hands,  and  saying, 

"  Look  !  "  he  had  vanishrd. 
So  they  returned  to  their  homes:  but  Alden 

lingered  a  little, 
Musing  alone  on  the  shore,  and  watching  the 

wash  of  the  l)illnws 
Round  the  base  of  the  rock,  and  the  sparkle 

and  flash  of  the  sunsliine. 
Like  the  spirit  of  God,  moving  visibly  over  the 

•waters. 


PRISCILLA.  61 

VI. 

PRISCILLA. 

Tttcs  for  a  wliile  he  stood,  and  mused  by  the 
shore  of  the  ocean, 

Thinkiug  of  many  things,  and  most  of  all  of 
PrisciiLi ; 

And  as  if  thought  had  the  power  to  draw  to 
itself,  like  the  loadstone. 

Whatsoever  it  touches,  by  subtile  laws  of  its 
nature, 

Lo !  as  he  turned  to  depart,  Priscilla  was  stand- 
ing beside  him. 

"Are  you  so  much  offended,  you  wiU  not 

speak  to  me  ?  "  said  she. 
"  Am  I  so  much  to  blame,  that  yesterday,  when 

you  were  pleading  -- 

Warmly  the  cause  of  another,  my  heart,  im- 
pulsive and  wayward. 
Pleaded  your  own,  and  spake  out,  forgetful 

perhaps  of  decorum  ? 
Certauily  you  can  forgive  me  for  speaking  so 

frankly,  for  saymg 
What  I  ought  not  to  have  said,  yet  now  I  can 

never  unsay  it ; 
Tor  there  are  momenls  in  Ufe,  when  the  heart 

is  so  full  of  emotion, 


02   THK  COLKTaUlP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

That  if  by  cliauce  it  be  sliaken,  or  into  its 

depths  like  a  pebble 
Drops  some  careless  word,  it  overflows,  and 

its  secret, 
Spilt  on  the  ground  like  water,  can  never  be 

feathered  together. 
Yesterday  I  was  sliocked,  when  I  heard  you 

speak  of  Miles  Standislx, 
Praising  his  virtues,   transforming   his  very 

defects  into  virtues. 
Praising  his  courage  and  strength,  and  even 

his  figliting  in  Flanders, 
As  if  by  fighting  alone  you  could  win  the  heart 

of  a  woman, 
Quite  overlooking  yourself  and   the   rest,  in 

exalting  your  hero. 
Therefore  I  spake  as  I  did,  by  an  irresistible 

impulse. 
You  will  forgive  me,  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of 

the  friendship  between  us, 
Which  is  too  true  and  too  sacred  to  be  so  easily 

broken ! " 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  scholar, 

the  friend  of  Miles  Standish  : 
"  I  was  not  angry  with  you,  M'ith  myself  alone 

I  was  angry, 
Seeing  how  badly  I  managed  the  matter  I  had 

in  my  keeping." 


PKISCILLA.  65 

"No  !"  interrupted  the  maiden,  with  answer 

prompt  and  decisive,  — 
"  No ;  you  were  angry  with  me,  for  speaking 

so  frankly  and  freely. 
It  was  wrong,  I  acknowledge ;  for  it  is  the  fate 

of  a  woman 
Long  to  be  patient  and  silent,  to  wait  like  a 

ghost  that  is  speechless. 
Till  some  questioning  voice  dissolves  the  spel! 

of  its  silence. 
Hence  is  the  inner  life  of  so  many  suffering 

women 
Sunless  and  sUeut  and  deep,  like  subterranean 

rivers 
Running  through  caverns  of  darkness,  unheard, 

unseen,  and  unfruitful, 
Chafing  their  channels  of  stone,  with  endless 

and  profitless  murmurs." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  the  young 

man,  the  lover  of  women : 
"  Heaven  forbid  it,  Priscilla ;  and  truly  they 

seem  to  me  always 
More  like  the  beautiful  rivers  that  watered  the 

garden  of  Eden, 
More  like  the  river  Euphrates,  through  deserts 

of  Havilah  flowing, 
Filling  the  land  with  delight,  and  memories 

sweet  of  the  garden !  " 


06      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

"  Ah,  by  these  words,  I  can  see,"  again  inter- 
rupted the  maiden, 

"How  very  little  you  prize  me,  or  care  foi 
what  I  am  saying. 

When  from  the  depths  of  my  heart,  in  pain  and 
with  secret  misgiving, 

Frankly  I  speak  to  you,  asking  for  sympathy 
only  and  kindness. 

Straightway  you  take  up  my  words,  that  are 
plain  and  direct  and  in  earnest. 

Turn  them  away  from  their  meaning,  and  an- 
swer with  flattering  phrases. 

This  is  not  right,  is  not  just,  is  not  true  to  the 
best  that  is  in  you  ; 

Por  I  know  and  esteem  you,  and  feel  that  your 
nature  is  noble, 

Lifting  mine  up  to  a  higher,  a  more  ethereal 
level. 

Therefore  I  value  your  friendship,  and  feel  it 
perhaps  the  more  keenly 

If  you  say  aught  tliat  implies  I  am  only  as  one 
among  many. 

If  you  make  use  of  those  common  and  compli- 
mentary phrases 

Most  men  think  so  fine,  in  deahng  and  speak- 
ing with  women. 
But  which  women  reject  as  insipid,  if  not  as 
insulting." 


PKISCILLA.  67 

Mute  and  amazed  was  Alden ;  and  listened 

and  looked  at  Priscilla, 
Thinking  he  never  had  seen  her  more  fair, 

more  divine  in  her  beauty. 
He  who  but  yesterday  pleaded  so  glibly  the 

cause  of  another. 
Stood  there  embarrassed  and  silent,  and  seek- 
ing in  vain  for  an  answer. 
So  the  maiden  went  on,  and  little  divined  or 

imagined 
What  was  at  work  in  his  heart,  that  made  him 

so  awkward  and  speechless. 
"  Let  us,  then,  be  what  we  are,  and  speak 

what  we  think,  and  in  all  tilings 
Keep  ourselves  loyal  to  truth,  and  the  sacred 

professions  of  friendship. 
It  is  no  secret  I  tell  you,  nor  am  I  ashamed  to 

declare  it : 
I  have  liked  to  be  with  you,  to  see  you,  to 

speak  with  you  always. 
So  I  was  hurt  at  your  words,  and  a  little 

affronted  to  hear  you 
Urge  me  to  marry  your  friend,  though  he  were 

the  Captain  Miles  Standish. 
For  I  must  tell  you  the  truth :  much  more  to 

me  is  your  friendship 
Than  all  the  love  he  could  give,  were  he  twice 

the  hero  you  think  him." 


68      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Then  she  extended  her  hand,  and  Alden,  who 
eagerly  grasped  it, 

Felt  all  the  wounds  in  his  heart,  that  werb 
aching  and  bleeding  so  sorely. 

Healed  by  the  touch  of  that  hand,  and  he  said, 
with  a  voice  full  of  feeling : 

"  Yes,  we  must  ever  be  friends ;  and  of  all  who 
offer  you  friendship 

Let  me  be  ever  the  first,  the  truest,  the  near- 
est and  dearest ! " 

Casting  a  farewell  look  at  the  glimmering 

sail  of  the  May  Flower, 
Distant,  but  still  in  sight,  and  sinking  below 

the  horizon. 
Homeward    together    they    walked,    with    a 

strange,  indefinite  feeling. 
That  all  the  rest  had  departed  and  left  them 

alone  in  the  desert. 
But,  as  they  went  through  the  fields  in  the 

blessing  and  smile  of  the  sunshine. 
Lighter  grew  their  hearts,  and  Priscilla  said 

vei-y  archly : 
"  Now  that  our  terrible  Captain  has  gone  in 

pursuit  of  the  Indians, 
Where  he  is  happier  far  than  he  would  be  com- 
manding a  household, 
You  may  speak  boldly,  and  tell  me  of  all  that 

happened  between  you, 


PRISCILLA.  69 

When  you  returned  last  night,  and  said  how 

ungrateful  you  found  me." 
Thereupon  answered  John  Alden,  and  told  hei 

the  whole  of  the  story,  — 
Told  her  his  own  despair,  and  the  direful  wrath 

of  Miles  Standish. 
Whereat  the  maiden  smiled,  and  said  between 

laughing  and  earnest, 
"  He  is  a  little  chimney,  and  heated  hot  in  a 

moment ! " 
But  as  he  gently  rebuked  her,  and  told  her  how 

he  had  suffered,  — 
How  he  had  even  determined  to  sail  that  day 

in  the  May  Flower, 
And  had  remained  for  her  sake,  on  hearing  the 

dangers  that  threatened,  — 
All  her  maimer  was  changed,  and  she  said  with 

a  faltering  accent, 
"  Truly  I  thank  you  for  this :  how  good  you 

have  been  to  me  always !  " 

Thus,  as  a  pilgrim  devout,  who  toward  Je- 
rusalem journeys. 

Taking  three  steps  in  advance,  and  one  reluc- 
tantly backward, 

Urged  by  importunate  zeal,  and  withheld  by 
pangs  of  contrition; 

Slowly  but  steadily  onward,  receding  yet  ever 
advancing, 


70     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STAXDISH. 

Journeyed  this   Puritan  youth   to  the   Holy 

Land  of  his  longings, 
Urged  by  the  fervor  of  love,  and  withheld  by 

remorseful  misgivings. 


VII. 

THE  MARCH  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Meanwhile  the  stalwart  Miles  Standish 
was  niarcliing  steadily  northward, 

Winding  through  forest  and  swamp,  and  along 
the  trend  of  the  sea-sliore, 

All  day  long,  with  hardly  a  halt,  the  fire  of  his 
anger 

Burning  and  crackling  within,  and  the  sul- 
phurous odor  of  powder 

Seeming  more  sweet  to  his  nostrils  than  all 
the  scents  of  the  forest. 

Silent  and  moody  he  went,  and  much  he  re- 
volved his  discomfort ; 

He  who  was  used  to  success,  and  to  easy  vic- 
tories always, 

Thus  to  be  flouted,  rejected,  and  laughed  to 
scorn  by  a  maiden. 

Thus  to  be  mocked  and  betrayed  by  the  friend 
whom  most  he  had  trusted  ! 

Ah!  't  was  too  much  to  be  borne,  and  he 
fretted  and  chafed  in  his  armor ! 


THE  MARCH  OF  MILES  STANDISH.       71 

"  I  alone  am  to  blame,"  he  muttered,  "  for 

mine  was  the  folly. 
What  has  a  rough  old  soldier,  grown  grim  and 

gray  in  the  harness. 
Used  to  the  camp  aud  its  ways,  to  do  with  the 

wooing  of  maidens  ? 
'T  was  but  a  dream,  —  let  it  pass,  —  let  it 

vanish  like  so  many  others ! 
What  I  thought  was  a  flower  is  only  a  weed, 

and  is  worthless ; 
Out  of  my  heart  will  I  pluck  it,  and  throw  it 

away,  and  henceforward 
Be  but  a  fighter  of  battles,  a  lover  and  wooer 

of  dangers ! " 
Thus  he  revolved  in  his  mind  his  sorry  defeat 

and  discomfort. 
While  he  was  marching  by  day  or  lying  at 

night  in  the  forest, 
Looking  up  at  the  trees,  and  the  constellations 

beyond  them. 

After  a  three  days'  march  he  came  to  an 

Indian  encampment 
Pitched  on  Ihe  edge  of  a  meadow,  between  the 

sea  and  the  forest; 
Women  at  work  by  the  tents,  and  the  warriors, 

horrid  with  war-paint, 
Seated  about  a  fire,  and  smoking  and  talking 

together ; 


72     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Who,  when  they  saw  from  afar  the  sudden 
approach  of  the  white  men, 

Saw  the  flash  of  the  sun  on  breastplate  and 
sabre  and  musket. 

Straightway  leaped  to  their  feet,  and  two,  fron, 
among  them  advancing, 

Came  to  parley  wilh  Slandish,  and  offer  him 
furs  as  a  present ; 

Friendship  was  in  their  looks,  but  in  their 
heai'ts  there  was  hatred. 

Braves  of  the  tribe  were  these,  and  brothers 
gigantic  in  statui-e. 

Huge  as  Goliath  of  Gath,  or  the  terrible  Og, 
king  of  Baslian ; 

One  was  Pecksuot  named,  and  the  other  was 
called  Watfawamat. 

Round  their  necks  were  suspended  their  knives 
in  scabbards  of  wampum, 

Two-edged,  trenchant  knives,  with  points  as 
sharp  as  a  needle. 

Other  ai-ms  had  they  none,  for  they  were  cun- 
ning and  crafty. 

"  Welcome,  English  !  "  they  said:  these  words 
they  liad  learned  from  the  traders 

Touching  at  times  on  the  coast,  to  barter  and 
chaffer  for  peltries. 

Then  in  their  native  tongue  they  began  to  par- 
ley with  Staudish, 


THE  MARCH  OF  MILES  STANDISH.       73 

Through  his  guide  and  interpreter,  Hobomok, 

friend  of  the  white  man, 
B3gging  for  blankets  and  knives,  but  mostly 

for  muskets  and  powder. 
Kept  by  the  white  man,  they  said,  concealed, 

witli  the  plague,  in  his  cellars, 
Ready  to  be  let  loose,  and  destroy  his  brother 

the  red  man ! 
But  when  Staudisli  refused,  and  said  he  would 

give  them  the  Bible, 
Suddenly  changing  tlieir  tone,  they  began  to 

boast  and  to  bluster. 
Then  Wattawamat  advanced  with  a  stride  in 

front  of  the  other, 
And,  with  a  lofty  demeanor,  thus  vauntingly 

spake  to  the  Captain : 
"  Now  Wattawamat  can  see,  by  the  fiery  eyes 

of  the  Captain, 
Angry  is  he  in  his  lieart ;  but  the  heart  of  the 

brave  Wattawamat 
Is  not  afraid  at  the  sight.     He  was  not  born 

of  a  woman. 
But  on  a  mountain,  at  night,  from  an  oak-tree 

riven  by  lightning, 
Forth  he  sprang  at  a  bound,  with  all  his  weap- 
ons about  him. 
Shouting,  '  Who  is  there  here  to  fight  with  the 

brave  Wattawamat  ? ' " 


74     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Then  he  unsheathed  his  knife,  and,  whetting 
the  blade  on  his  lefl  hand. 

Held  it  aloft  and  displayed  a  woman's  face  on 
the  handle, 

Saying,  with  bitter  expression  and  look  of  sin- 
ister meaning : 

"  I  have  another  at  home,  with  the  face  of  a 
man  on  the  handle ; 

By  and  by  they  shall  marry ;  and  there  will  be 
plenty  of  children !  " 

Then  stood  Pecksuot  forth,  self-vaunting, 

insulting  Miles  Standish  : 
While  with  his  fingers  he  patted  the  knife  that 

bung  at  his  bosom. 
Drawing  it  half  from  its  sheath,  and  plunging 

it  back,  as  he  muttered, 
"  By  and  by  it  shall  see ;  it  shall  eat ;  ah,  ha  ! 

but  shall  speak  not ! 
This  is  the  mighty  Captain  the  -white  men  have 

sent  to  destroy  us  ! 
He  is  a  little  man  ;  let  him  go  and  work  with 

the  women ! " 

Meanwhile  Standish  had  noted  the  faces  and 
figures  of  Indians 
Peeping  and  creeping  about  from  bush  to  tree 
in  the  forest, 


THE  MARCH  OF  MILES  STANDISH.       75 

Feigning  to  look  for  game,  with  arrows  set  on 

tiieir  bow-striugs, 
Drawing  about  him  still  closer  and  closer  the 

iiet  of  their  ambush. 
But  undaunted  he  stood,  and  dissembled  and 

treated  them  smoothly ; 
So  the  old  chronicles  say,  that  were  writ  in  the 

days  of  the  fathers. 
Bat  when  he  heard  their  defiance,  the .  boast, 

the  taunt,  and  the  insult. 
All  the  hot  blood  of  his  race,  of  Sir  Hugh  and 

of  Thurston  de  Standish, 
Boiled  and  beat  in  his  heart,  and  swelled  in  the 

veins  of  his  temples. 
Headlong  he  leaped  on  the  boaster,  and,  snatch- 
ing his  knife  from  its  scabbard. 
Plunged  it  iuto  liis  heart,  and,  reeling  back- 
ward, the  savage 
Fell  with  liis  face  to  tlie  sky,  and  a  fiendlike 

fierceness  upon  it. 
Straight  there  arose  from  the  forest  the  awful 

sound  of  the  war-whoop, 
And,  like  a  flurry  of  snow  on  the  whistling 

wind  of  December, 
Swift  and  sudden  and  keen  came  a  flight  of 

feathery  arrows. 
Then  came  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  out  of  the 

cloud  came  the  lightning. 


7(5     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Out  of  the  liglitning  thunder;  and  death  ua- 

sean  ran  before  it. 
Frightened  tlie  savages  fled  for  shelter  ia  swamp 

and  in  thicket, 
Hotly  pursued  and  beset;  but  their  sachem, 

the  brave  Wattawamat, 
Fled   not ;    he   was   dead.     Unswerving  and 

swift  had  a  bullet 
Passed  thougli  his  brain,  and  he  fell  with  both 

hands  clutching  the  greensward, 
Seeming  in  death  to  hold  back  from  his  foe  the 

land  of  his  fathers. 

There  on  the  flowers  of  the  meadow  the  -war- 
riors lay,  and  above  them, 

Silent,  with  folded  arms,  stood  Hobomok, 
friend  of  the  white  man. 

Smiling  at  length  he  exclaimed  to  the  stalwart 
Captain  of  Plymouth : 

"  Pecksuot  bragged  very  loud,  of  his  courage, 
his  strength,  and  his  stature,  — 

Mocked  the  great  Captain,  and  called  him  a 
little  man ;  but  I  see  now 

Big  enough  have  you  been  to  lay  him  speech- 
less before  you ! " 

Thus  the  first  battle  was  fought  and  won  by 
the  stalwart  Miles  Standish. 


THE    SPINNING-WHEEL.  77 

When  the  tidings  thereof  were  brouglit  to  the 

village  of  Plymouth, 
And  as  a  trophy  of  war  the  head  of  the  brave 

Wattawamat 
Scowled  from  the  roof  of  the  fort,  which  at 

once  was  a  church  and  a  fortress, 
All  who  beheld  it  rejoiced,  and  praised  the  Lord, 

and  took  courage. 
Only  Priscilla  averted  her  face  from  this  spectre 

of  terror. 
Thanking  God  in  her  heart  that  she  had  not 

married  Miles  Standish; 
Shrinking,  fearing  almost,  lest,  coming  home 

from  his  battles. 
He  should  lay  claim  to  her  hand,  as  the  prize 

and  reward  of  his  valor. 


VIII. 

THE  SPIXNING-WHEEL. 

Month  after  month  passed  away,  and  in  Au- 
tumn the  ships  of  the  merchants 

Came  with  kindred  and  friends,  with  cattle  and 
corn  for  the  Pilgrims. 

All  in  the  village  was  peace ;  the  men  were 
intent  on  their  labors. 

Busy  with  hewing  and  building,  with  garden, 
plot  and  with  merestead. 


78   THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Busy  with  breaking  the  glebe,  and  mowing  the 

grass  in  the  meadows. 
Searching  the  sea  for  its  fisli,  and  hunting  the 

deer  in  the  forest. 
All  in  the  village  was  peace  ;  but  at  times  the 

rumor  of  warfare 
Filled  the  air  with  alarm,  and  the  apprehension 

of  danger. 
Bravely  the  stalwart  Standish  was  scouring  the 

land  with  his  forces, 
Waxing  valiant  in  fight  and  defeating  the  aUen 

armies, 
Till  his  name  had  become  a  sound  of  fear  to  the 

nations. 
Anger  was  still  in  his  heart,  but  at  times  the 

remorse  and  contrition 
Which  in  all  noble  natures  succeed  the  pas- 
sionate outbreak, 
Came  like  a  rising  tide,  that  encounters  the 

rush  of  a  river, 
Staying  its  current  awhile,  but  making  it  bitter 

and  brackish. 

Meanwhile  Alden  at  home  had  built  him  a 

new  habitation, 
Solid,  substantial,  of  timber  rough-hewn  from 

the  firs  of  the  forest. 
Wooden-barred  was  the  door,  and  the  roof  was 

covered  with  rushes  ; 


THE   SPINNING-WHEEL.  79 

Latticed  the  windows  were,  and  the  window- 
panes  were  of  paper, 
Oiled  to  admit  the  light,  while  wind  and  rain 

were  excluded. 
There  too  he  dug  a  well,  and  around  it  planted 

an  orchard : 
Still  may  be  seen  to  this  day  some  trace  of  the 

well  and  the  orchard. 
Close  to  the  house  was  the  stall,  where,  safe 

and  secure  from  annoyance, 
Raghorn,  the  snow-white  bull,  that  had  fallen 

to  Alden's  allotment 
In  the  division  of  cattle,  might  ruminate  in  the 

night-time 
Over  the  pastures  he  cropped,  made  fragrant 

by  sweet  pennyroyal. 

Oft  when  his  labor  was  finished,  with  eager 
feet  would  the  dreamer 

Follow  the  pathway  that  ran  through  the  woods 
to  the  house  of  Priscilla, 

Led  by  illusions  romantic  and  subtile  decep- 
tions of  fancy. 

Pleasure  disguised  as  duty,  and  love  in  the 
semblance  of  friendship. 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  fashioned  the 
walls  of  his  dwelling ; 

Ever  of  her  he  thought,  when  he  delved  in  the 
soil  of  his  garden  ; 


80      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Ever  of  ber  he  thought,  when  he  read  in  his 

Bible  on  Sunday 
Praise  of  the  virtuous  woman,  as  she  is  de- 
scribed in  the  Proverbs,  — 
How  the  heart  of  her  husband  doth  safely  trust 

in  her  always. 
How  all  the  days  of  her  life  she  will  do  him 

good,  and  not  evil. 
How  she  seeketh  the  wool  and  the  flax  and 

worketh  with  gladness. 
How  she  layeth  her  hand  to  the  spindle  and 

holdeth  the  distaff. 
How  she  is  not  afraid  of  the  snow  for  herself 

or  her  household. 
Knowing  her  household  are  clothed  with  the 

scarlet  cloth  of  her  weaving ! 

So  as  she  sat  at  her  wheel  one  afternoon  in 
the  Autumn, 

Alden,  who  opposite  sat,  and  was  watching  her 
dexterous  fingers, 

As  if  the  thread  she  was  spinning  were  that  of 
his  life  and  his  fortune. 

After  a  pause  in  tlieir  talk,  thus  spake  to  the 
sound  of  ihe  spindle. 

"  Truly,  Priscilla,"  he  said,  "  when  I  see  you 
spinnh'.g  and  spinning, 

Never  idle  a  moment,  but  thrifty  and  thought- 
ful of  others, 


THE    SPINMNG-WHEEL.  81 

Suddenly  you   are    transformed,   are    visibly 

changed  in  a  moment; 
You  are  no  longer  Priscilla,  but  Bertha  the 

Beautiful  Spinner." 
Here  the  liglit  foot  on  the  treadle  grew  swifter 

and  swifter ;  the  spindle 
Uttered  an  angry  snarl,  and  the  thread  snapped 

short  in  her  fingers ; 
While  the  impetuous  speaker,  not  heeding  the 

mischief,  continued : 
"You  are  the  beautiful  Bertha,  the  spinner, 

the  queen  of  Helvetia; 
She  whose  story  I  read  at  a  "stall  in  the  streets 

of  Southampton, 
Who,  as  she  rode  on  her  palfrey,  o'er  valley 

and  meadow  and  mountain, 
Ever  w^as  spinning  her  thread  from  a  distaff 

fixed  to  her  saddle. 
She  was  so  thrifty  and  good,  that  her  name 

passed  into  a  proverb. 
So  shall  it  be  with  your  own,  when  the  spin- 
ning-wheel shall  no  longer 
Hum  in  the  house  of  the  farmer,  and  fill  its 

chambers  with  music. 
Then  shall  the  mothers,  reproving,  relate  how 

it  was  in  their  childhood. 
Praising  the  good  old  times,  and  the  days  of 
PriscUla  the  spinner  I  " 


82   THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Straight  uprose  from  her  wheel  the  beautiful 
Puritan  maiden, 

Pleased  with  the  praise  of  her  thrift  from  him 
whose  praise  was  the  sweetest. 

Drew  from  the  reel  on  the  table  a  snowy  skein 
of  her  spinning. 

Thus  making  answer,  meanwhile,  to  the  flatter- 
ing phrases  of  Alden : 

"  Come,  you  must  not  be  idle ;  if  I  am  a  pat- 
tern for  housewives, 

Show  yourself  equally  worthy  of  being  the 
model  of  husbands. 

Hold  this  skein  on  your  hands,  while  I  wind 
it,  ready  for  knitting ; 

Then  who  knows  but  hereafter,  when  fashions 
have  changed  and  the  manners. 

Fathers  may  talk  to  their  sons  of  the  good  old 
times  of  John  Alden  !  " 

Thus,  with  a  jest  and  a  laugh,  the  skein  on  his 
hands  she  adjusted, 

He  sitting  awkwardly  there,  with  his  arms  ex- 
tended before  him 

She  standing  graceful,  erect,  and  winding  the 
thread  from  his  fingers. 

Sometimes  chiding  a  little  his  clumsy  manner 
of  holding. 

Sometimes  touching  his  hands,  as  she  disen- 
tangled expertly 


^  <t//^«s-»^  - 


THE    SPINNING-WHEEL.  85 

Twist  or  knot  in  the  yam,  unawares  —  for  bow 

could  she  help  it  ?  — 
Sending  electrical  thrills  through  every  nerve 

in  his  body. 

Lo !  in  the  midst  of  this  scene,  a  breathless 

messenger  entered. 
Bringing  in  hurry  and  heat  the  terrible  news 

from  the  village. 
Yes ;  Miles  Standish  was  dead !  —  an  Indian 

had  brought  them  the  tidings,  — 
Slain  by  a  poisoned  arrow,  shot  down  in  the 

front  of  the  battle. 
Into  an  ambush   beguiled,  cut  off  with  the 

whole  of  his  forces ; 
All  the  town  would  be  burned,  and  all  the 

people  be  murdered ! 
Such  were  the  tidings  of  evil  that  burst  on  the 

hearts  of  the  hearers. 
Silent  and  statue-like  stood  Priscilla,  her  face 

looking  backward 
Still  at  the  face  of  the  speaker,  her  arms  up- 
lifted in  horror; 
But  John  Alden,  upstarting,  as  if  the  barb  of 

the  arrow 
Piercing  the  heart  of  his  friend  had  struck  his 

OM-n,  and  had  sundered 
Once  and  forever  the  bonds  that  held  him 

bound  as  a  captive. 


86     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Wild  with  excess  of  sensation,  the  awful  de- 
light of  his  freedom, 

Mingled  with  pain  and  regret,  unconscious  of 
what  he  was  doing, 

Clasped,  almost  with  a  groan,  the  motionless 
form  of  Priscilla, 

Pressing  her  close  to  his  heart,  as  forever  his 
own,  and  exclaiming : 

"Those  whom  the  Lord  hath  united,  let  no 
man  put  them  asunder  !  " 

Even  as  rivulets  twain,  from  distant  and 

separate  sources. 
Seeing  each  other  afar,  as  they  leap  from  the 

rocks,  and  pursuing 
Each  one  its  devious  path,  but  drawing  nearer 

and  nearer. 
Rush  together  at  last,  at  their  trysting-place 

in  the  forest ; 
So  these  lives  that  had  run  thus  far  in  separate 

channels. 
Coming  in  sight  of  each  other,  then  swerving 

and  flowing  asunder, 
Parted  by  barriers  strong,  but  drawing  nearer 

and  nearer. 
Rushed  together  at  last,  and  one  was  lost  in 

the  other. 


THE   AVEDDIXa-DAY.  87 

IX. 

THE  WEBDING-DAY. 

Forth  from  the  curtain  of  clouds,  from  the 

tent  of  purple  and  scarlet. 
Issued  the  sun,  the  great  High-Priest,  in  his 

garments  resplendent. 
Holiness  unto  tlie  Lord,  in  letters  of  light,  on 

his  foreliead, 
Ronud  the  hem  of  his  robe  the  golden  bells 

and  pomegranates. 
Blessing  the  world  he  came,  and  the  bars  of 

vapor  beneath  him 
Gleamed  like  a  grate  of  brass,  and  the  sea  at 

his  feet  was  a  laver  1 

This  was  the  wedding  mora  of  Prisoilla  the 

Puritan  maiden. 
Friends  were  assembled  together;  the  Elder 

and  Magistrate  also 
Graced   the   scene   with   their  presence,   and 

stood  like  the  Law  and  the  Gospel, 
One  with  the  sanction  of  earth  and  one  with 

the  blessing  of  heaven. 
Simple  and  brief  was  the  wedding,  as  that  of 

Ruth  and  of  Boaz. 
Softly  the  youth  and  the  maiden  repeated  the 

words  of  betrothal. 


88     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISH. 

Taking  each  other  for  husband  and  wife  in  the 
Magistrate's  presence. 

After  the  Puritan  way,  and  the  laudable  cus- 
tom of  Holland. 

Fervently  then,  and  devoutly,  the  excellent 
Elder  of  Plyinoutli 

Prayed  for  the  heartli  and  the  home,  that  were 
founded  that  day  in  affection. 

Speaking  of  life  and  of  death,  and  imploring 
Divine  benedictions. 

Lo !  when  the  service  was  ended,  a  form  ap- 
peared on  the  threshold. 

Clad  in  armor  of  steel,  a  sombre  and  sorrowful 
figure! 

Why  does  the  bridegroom  start  and  stare  at 
the  strange  apparition? 

Why  does  tlie  bride  turn  pale,  and  hide  her 
face  on  his  shoulder? 

Is  it  a  phantom  of  air,  —  a  bodiless,  spectral 
illusion  ? 

Is  it  a  ghost  from  the  grave,  that  has  come  to 
forbid  the  betrothal  ? 

Long  had  it  stood  there  unseen,  a  guest  unin- 
vited, unwelcomed ; 

Over  its  clouded  eyes  there  had  passed  at  times 
an  expression 

Softening  the  gloom  and  revealing  the  warm 
heart  hidden  beneath  them, 


THE  WEDDING-DAY.  89 

As  when  across  tlie  sky  the  driving  rack  of  the 

rain-cloud 
Grows  for  a  moment  thin,  and  betrays  the  sun 

by  its  brightness. 
Once  it  had  lifted  its  hand,  and  moved  its  lips, 

but  was  silent. 
As  if  an  iron  will  had  mastered  the  fleeting  in- 
tention. 
But  when  were  ended  the  troth  and  the  prayer 

and  the  last  benediction, 
Into  the  room  it  strode,  and  the  people  beheld 

with  amazement 
Bodily  there  in  his  armor  Miles  Standish  the 

Captain  of  Plymouth ! 
Grasping  the  bridegroom's  hand,  he  said  with 

emotion,  "  Porgive  me  ! 
I  have  been  angry  and  hurt,  —  too  long  have 

I  cherished  the  feeling ; 
I  have  been  cruel  and  hard,  but  now,  thank 

God !  it  is  ended. 
Mine  is  the  same  hot  blood  that  leaped  in  the 

veins  of  Hugii  Standish, 
Sensitive,  swift  to  resent,  but  as  swift  in  aton- 
ing for  error. 
Never  so  much  as  now  was  Miles  Standish  the 

friend  of  John  Alden." 
Thereupon   answered  the  bridegroom :  "  Let 

all  be  forgotten  between  us,  — 


90      THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISU. 

All  save  the  dear  old  friendship,  aud  that  shall 

grow  older  aud  dearer !  " 
Then  the  Captain  advanced,  aud,  bowing,  sa- 
luted Priscilla, 
Gravely,  and  after  the  manner  of  old-fashioned 

gentry  hi  Euglaud, 
Something  of  camp  and  of  court,  of  town  and 

of  country,  commingled. 
Wishing  her  joy  of  her  wedding,  aud  loudly 

lauding  her  Imsband. 
Then  he  said  with  a  smile :  "  I  should  have 

remembered  tlie  adage,  — 
If  you  would  be  well  served,  you  must  serve 

yourself;  and  moreover. 
No  man  can  gather  cherries  in  Kent  at  thf 

season  of  Cln-istmas  !  " 

Great   was    the   people's    amazement,   and 

greater  yet  their  rejoicing, 
Thus  to  behold  once  more  tlic  sun-burnt  face 

of  their  Captain, 
Whom  they  l)ad  mourned  as  dead ;  and  they 

gatliered  and  crowded  about  him, 
Eager  to  see  hiin  and  liear  him,  forgetful  of 

bride  aud  of  bridi^groom. 
Questioning,    answering,  laugliing,   aud   each 

interrupting  tlie  other. 
Till  the  good  Captain  declared,  being  quits 

overpowered  aud  bewildered. 


THE  WEDDING-DAY.  91 

He  had  rather  by  far  break  into  an  Indian 

encampment, 
Than  come  again  to  a  wedding  to  which  he  had 

not  been  invited. 

Meanwhile  tlie  bridegroom  went  forth  and 

stood  with  the  bride  at  the  doorway, 
Breathing  the  perfumed  air  of  that  warm  and 

beautiful  morning. 
Touched  with  autumnal  tints,  but  lonely  and 

sad  in  the  sunshine. 
Lay  extended  before  them  the  land  of  toil  and 

privation ; 
There  were  the  graves  of  the  dead,  and  the 

barren  waste  of  the  sea-shore, 
There  tlie  familiar  fields,  the  groves  of  pine, 

and  the  meadows ; 
But  to  their  eyes  transfigured,  it  seemed  as  the 

Garden  of  Eden, 
Filled  with  the  presence  of  God,  whose  voice 

was  the  sound  of  the  ocean. 

Soon  was  their  vision  disturbed  by  the  noise 
and  stir  of  departure. 

Friends  coming  forth  from  the  house,  and  im- 
patient of  longer  delaying. 

Each  with  his  plan  for  the  day,  and  the  work 
that  was  left  uncompleted. 


92     THE  COURTSHIP  OF  MILES  STANDISU. 

Then  from  a  stall  near  at  hand,  amid  exclama- 
tions of  wonder, 
Alden  the  thoughtful,  the  careful,  so  happy,  so 

proud  of  Priscilla, 
Brought  out  liis  snow-white  bull,  obeying  the 

hand  of  its  master. 
Led  by  a  cord  that  was  tied  to  an  iron  ring  in 

its  nostrils, 
Covered  with  crimson  cloth,  and  a  cushion 

placed  for  a  saddle. 
She  should  not  walk,  he  said,  through  the  dust 

and  heat  of  the  noonday ; 
Nay,  she  should  ride  like  a  queen,  not  plod 

along  like  a  peasant. 
Somewhat  alarmed  at  first,  but  reassured  by 

the  otliers, 
Placmg  her  hand  on  the  cushion,  her  foot  in 

the  hand  of  her  husband, 
Gayly,  with  joyous  laugh,  Priscilla  mounted 

her  palfrey. 
"Nothing  is  wanting  now,"  he  said  with  a 

smile,  "but  the  distaff; 
Then  you  would  be  in  truth  my  queen,  my 
beautiful  Bertha ! " 

Onward  the  bridal  procession  now  moved  to 
their  new  habitation, 
Happy  husband  and  wife,  and  friends  convers- 
ing together. 


THE  WEDDING-DAY.  95 

Pleasantly  munnured  the  brook,  as  they  crossed 
the  ford  in  the  forest. 

Pleased  with  the  image  that  passed,  like  a  dream 
of  love  through  its  bosom. 

Tremulous,  floating  in  air,  o'er  the  depths  of 
the  azure  abysses. 

Down  through  the  golden  leaves  the  sun  was 
pouring  his  splendors. 

Gleaming  on  purple  grapes,  that,  from  branches 
above  them  suspended, 

Mingled  their  odorous  breath  with  the  balm  of 
the  pine  and  the  fir-tree. 

Wild  and  sweet  as  the  clusters  that  grew  in 
the  valley  of  Eschol. 

Like  a  picture  it  seemed  of  the  primitive,  pas- 
toral ages. 

Fresh  with  the  youth  of  the  world,  and  recall- 
ing Rebecca  and  Isaac, 

Old  and  yet  ever  new,  and  simple  and  beautiful 
always. 

Love  immortal  and  young  in  the  endless  suc- 
cession of  lovers. 

So  through  the  Plymouth  woods  passed  on- 
ward the  bridal  procession. 


ik 


A  Psalm  of  Life 


CONTENTS. 

Page 


n 


The  Reaper  and  the  Flowers    ....  13 

The  Light  of  Stars J7 

Footsteps  of  Akgels 19 

Flowers 21 

The  Rainy  Day 24 

It  is  not  always  May 25 

The  Village  Blacksmith 27 

The  Goblet  of  Life 31 

Maidenhood 04 

Excelsior ._ 

A  Gleam  of  Sunshine 42 

Rain  in  Summer 45 

To  a  Child 4g 

The  Bridge ^ 

The  Day  is  done go 


VI  CONTENTS. 

The  Arrow  akd  the  Sono 66 

The  Old  Clock  on  the  Stairs    ....  67 

The  Secret  of  the  Sea 73 

The  Lighthouse yg 

Resignation »g 

Haunted  Houses g2 

Sandalphon g5 

The  Children's  Hour 88 

A  Day  of  Sunshine 90 


Children  . 


92 


Christmas      ....  ....    94 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Longfellow's  Residence Frontispiece. 

"  'T  was  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth  Page 

And  took  the  flowers  away  " 15 

"  Singing  in  the  village  choir  " 29 

Excelsior o'J 

"  Thou  driftest  gently  down  the  tides  of  sleep  "        .        55 

"There  groups  of  raeiTy  children  played"     .        .        .69 

Tail-piece 96 


A  PSALM  OF  LIFE. 


WHAT   THE    HEAET   OF   THE    YOUNG    MAN    SAID   TO 
THE   PSALMIST. 

ELL  me  not,  in  mournful  numbers, 
"  Life  is  but  an  empty  dream  !  " 
For  the  soul  is  dead  that  slumbers, 
And  things  are  not  what  they  seem. 

Life  is  real  I  Life  is  earnest ! 

And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ; 
"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest," 

Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul. 

Not  enjoyment,  and  not  sorrow. 

Is  our  destined  end  or  way ; 
But  to  act,  that  each  to-morrow 

rind  us  farther  than  to-day. 


12  FAYOKllli    POEilS. 

Art  is  long,  and  Time  is  fleeting, 

And  our  hearts,  though  stout  and  brave, 

Still,  like  muffled  drums,  are  beating 
Tuueral  marches  to  the  grave. 

In  the  world's  broad  field  of  battle. 

In  the  bivouac  of  Life, 
Be  not  like  dumb,  driven  cattle! 

Be  a  hero  in  the  strife  ! 

Trust  no  Future,  howe'er  pleasant ! 

Let  the  dead  Past  bury  its  dead  ! 
Act,  —  act  in  the  living  Present ! 

Heart  within,  and  God  o'erhead ! 

Lives  of  great  men  all  remind  us 
We  can  make  our  lives  sublime. 

And,  departing,  leave  behind  us 
Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time; 

Footprints,  that  perhaps  another, 
Sailing  o'er  life's  solemn  main, 

A  forlorn  and  shipwrecked  brother, 
Seeing,  shall  take  heart  again. 


THE    REAPER   AND    THE    FLOWERS.       13 

Let  US,  tbeu,  be  up  and  doing. 

With  a  heart  for  auy  fate ; 
Still  achieving,  still  pursuing. 

Learn  to  labor  and  to  wait. 


THE  KEAPER  AND  THE  FLOWEBS. 


HERE  is  a  Reaper,  whose  name  is 

Death, 
And,  with  his  sickle  keen. 
He  reaps  the  bearded  grain  at  a  breath. 
And  the  flowers  that  grow  between. 

"  Shall  I  have  naught  that  is  fair  ?  "  saith  he  ; 

"  Have  naught  but  the  bearded  grain  ? 
Though  the  breath  of  these  flowers  is  sweet  to 
me, 

I  will  give  them  all  back  again." 

He  gazed  at  the  flowers  with  tearful  eyes, 
He  kissed  their  drooping  leaves ; 


14  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

It  was  for  the  Lord  of  Paradise 
He  bound  them  in  his  sheaves. 

"My  Lord  has  need  of  these  flowerets  ga/ 

The  Reaper  said,  and  smiled ; 
"  Dear  tokens  of  the  earth  are  they. 

Where  he  was  once  a  child. 

"  They  shall  all  bloom  in  fields  of  light, 

Transplanted  by  my  care, 
And  saints,  upon  their  garments  white. 

These  sacred  blossoms  wear." 

And  the  mother  gave,  in  tears  and  pain^ 
The  flowers  she  most  did  love ; 

She  knew  she  should  find  them  all  agaiiv 
In  the  fields  of  light  above. 

0,  not  in  cruelty,  not  in  wrath. 

The  Reaper  came  that  day ; 
'T  was  an  angel  visited  the  green  earth, 

And  took  the  flowers  away. 


THE   LIGHT   OF   STABS.  17 


THE  LIGHT  OF  STARS. 

HE  night  is  come,  but  not  too  soon ; 
And  sinking  silently, 
All  silently,  the  little  moon 
Drops  down  behind  the  sky. 

There  is  no  light  in  earth  or  heaven, 

But  the  cold  light  of  stars; 
And  the  first  watch  of  night  is  given 

To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

Is  it  the  tender  star  of  love  ? 

The  star  of  love  and  dreams  ? 
O  no  !  from  that  blue  tent  above 

A  hero's  armor  gleams. 

And  earnest  thoughts  within  me  rise, 

When  I  behold  afar, 
Suspended  in  the  evening  skies, 

Tiie  shield  of  that  red  star. 


18  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

0  star  of  streugtb  !  I  see  tliee  stand 
And  smile  upon  my  pain  ; 

Thou  beckonest  with  thy  mailed  hand. 
And  I  am  strong  again. 

Witliin  my  breast  there  is  no  light. 
But  the  cold  light  of  stars ; 

1  give  the  first  watch  of  the  night 
To  the  red  planet  Mars. 

The  star  of  the  unconquered  will. 

He  rises  in  my  breast, 
Serene,  and  resolute,  and  still. 

And  calm,  and  self-possessed  ; 

And  thou,  too,  whosoe'er  thou  art. 
That  readest  this  brief  psalm, 

As  one  by  one  thy  hopes  depart. 
Be  resolute  and  calm. 

O,  fear  not  in  a  world  like  this. 
And  thou  slialt  know  erelong. 

Know  how  sublime  a  thing  it  is 
To  suffer  and  be  strong. 


FOOTSTEPS   OF  ANGELS.  19 


FOOTSTEPS  OP  ANGELS. 


ijHEN  the  hours  of  Day  are  numbered, 
Aud  the  voices  of  the  Night 
Wake  the  better  soul,  that  slumbered, 
To  a  holy,  calm  delight ; 

Ere  the  evening  lamps  are  lighted. 
And,  like  phantoms  grim  and  tall, 

Shadows  from  the  fitful  firelight 
Dance  upon  the  parlor  wall ; 

Then  the  forms  of  the  departed 

Enter  at  the  open  door ; 
The  beloved,  the  true-hearted. 

Come  to  visit  me  once  more ; 

He,  the  young  and  strong,  who  cherished 

Noble  longings  for  the  strife, 
By  the  roadside  fell  and  perished, 

Wearv  with  the  march  of  life  I 


20  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

They,  the  holy  ones  and  weakly, 
Who  the  cross  of  suffering  bore. 

Folded  their  pale  hands  so  meekly. 
Spake  with  us  on  earth  no  more ! 

And  with  them  the  Being  Beauteous, 
Who  unto  my  youth  was  given. 

More  tlian  all  things  else  to  love  me, 
And  is  now  a  saint  in  heaven. 

With  a  slow  and  noiseless  footstep 
Comes  that  messenger  divine, 

Takes  the  vacant  chair  beside  me, 
Lays  her  gentle  hand  in  mine. 

And  she  sits  and  gazes  at  me 

With  those  deep  and  tender  eyes, 

Like  the  stars,  so  still  and  saint-like. 
Looking  downward  from  the  skies. 

Uttered  not,  yet  comprehended. 
Is  the  spirit's  voiceless  prayer, 

Soft  rebukes,  in  blessings  ended, 
Breathing  from  her  lips  of  air. 


FLOWERS.  21 

O,  though  oft  depressed  and  lonely. 

All  my  fears  are  laid  aside, 
If  1  but  remember  ouly 

Such  as  these  have  lived  and  died ! 


PIiOWERS. 

^PAKE  full  well,  in   language   quaint 
aud  olden, 
One   who  dwelleth  by  the   castled 
Rhine, 
When  he  called  the  flowers,  so  blue  and  golden. 
Stars,  that  in  earth's  firmament  do  shine. 

Stars  <^^l>ey  are,  wherein  we  read  our  history, 

A^s  astrologers  and  seers  of  eld; 
Yet  not  wrapped  about  with  awful  mystery. 

Like  the  burning  stars,  which  they  beheld. 

Wondrous  truths,  and  manifold  as  wondrous, 
God  hath  written  in  those  stars  above ; 

But  uot  less  in  the  bright  flowerets  under  us 
Stands  the  revelation  of  his  love. 


'22  FAVORlTli    fOEMS. 

Bright  and  glorious  is  that  revelation. 
Written  ail  over  this  great  world  of  ours ; 

Makiug  evident  our  own  creation, 

In    these    stars  of   earth,  —  these   golden 
flowers. 

And  the  Poet,  faithful  and  far-seeing, 
Sees,  alike  in  stars  and  flowers,  a  part 

Of  the  selfsame,  universal  being. 

Which  is  throbbing  in  his  braiu  and  heart. 

Gorgeous  flowerets  in  the  sunlight  shining. 
Blossoms  flaunting  in  the  eye  of  day. 

Tremulous  leaves,  with  soft  and  silver  lining. 
Buds  that  open  only  to  decay  ; 

Brilliant  hopes,  all  woven  in  gorgeous  tissues. 
Flaunting  gayly  in  the  golden  light ; 

Large  dt-sires,  witii  most  uncertain  issues. 
Tender  wishes,  blossoming  at  night  I 

These  in  flowers  and  men  are  more  than  secmiuj,^ 
Workings  are  they  of  the  selfsame  powers, 

Which  the  Poet,  in  no  idle  dreaming, 
Seetb  in  himself  and  in  the  flowers. 


FLOWERS.  23 

Everywhere  about  us  are  they  glowiug, 
Some  like  stars,  to  tell  us  Spring  is  born  ; 

Others,  their  blue  eyes  with  tears  o'erflowiug, 
Stand  like  Ruth  amid  the  goldeu  corn ; 

Not  aloue  in  Spring's  armorial  bearing, 
And  in  Summer's  green-emblazoned  field, 

But  in  arms  of  brave  old  Autumn's  wearing, 
In  the  centre  of  his  brazen  shield ; 

Not  alone  in  meadows  and  green  alleys, 
On  the  mountain-top,  and  by  the  brink 

Of  sequestered  pools  in  woodland  valleys, 
Where  the  slaves  of  Nature  stoop  to  drink ; 

Not  alone  in  her  vast  dome  of  glory. 
Not  on  graves  of  bird  and  beast  alone, 

But  in  old  cathedrals,  high  and  hoary. 
On  the  tombs  of  heroes,  carved  in  stone ; 

In  the  cottage  of  the  rudest  peasant, 

In  ancestral  homes,  whose  crumbling  towers, 

Speaking  of  the  Past  unto  the  Present, 
Tell  us  of  the  ancient  Games  of  Flowers ; 


24  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

In  all  places,  then,  and  in  all  seasons, 
Elowers   expand  their  light  and  soul-like 
■wings. 

Teaching  us,  by  most  persuasive  reasons. 
How  akin  they  are  to  human  things. 

And  with  childlike,  credulous  affection 
We  behold  their  tender  buds  expand ; 

Emblems  of  our  own  great  resurrection. 
Emblems  of  the  bright  and  better  land. 


THE  RAINY  DAT. 

HE  day  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary 
The  vine  still  clings  to  the  mouldering 
wall. 
But  at  every  gust  the  dead  leaves  fall. 
And  the  day  is  dark  and  dreary. 

My  life  is  cold,  and  dark,  and  dreary  ; 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  is  never  weary ; 


IT  18   NOT    ALWAYS   MAY,  2.J 

My  tljoughts  still  cling  to  the  mouldevingPast, 
But  the  hopes  of  youth  fall  thick  in  the  blast. 
And  the  days  are  dark  and  dreary. 

Be  still,  sad  heart !  and  cease  repining ; 
Behind  the  clouds  is  the  sun  still  shining ; 
Thy  fate  is  the  common  fate  of  all. 
Into  each  life  some  rain  must  fall, 

Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary. 


IT  IS  WOT  ALWAYS  MAY. 

No  bay  pfijaros  en  los  nWos  de  antano. 

Spanish  Proverb. 

]HE  sun  is  bright,  —  the  air  is  clear, 
i  Tlie  darting  swallows  soar  and  sing. 
And  from  the  stately  elms  I  hear 
The  bluebird  propliesying  Spring. 

So  blue  yon  winding  river  flows, 
It  seems  an  outlet  from  the  sky. 


20  FAVOUITE    POEMS. 

Where  waiting  till  the  west-wind  blows, 
The  freighted  clouds  at  auchor  lie. 


All  things  are  new ;  —  the  buds,  tlie  leaves, 
That  gild  the  elm-tree's  nodding  crest, 

And  even  the  nest  beneath  the  eaves  ;  — 
There  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nest ! 

All  things  rejoice  in  youth  and  love. 
The  fulness  of  their  first  delight! 

And  learn  from  the  soft  heavens  above 
The  melting  tenderness  of  night. 

Maiden,  that  read'st  this  simple  rliyme, 
Enjoy  thy  youth,  it  will  not  stay  ; 

Enjoy  the  fragrance  of  thy  prime, 
Eor  0,  it  is  not  always  May  ! 

Enjoy  the  Spring  of  Love  and  Youth, 
To  some  good  angel  leave  the  rest ;  • 

For  Time  will  teach  thee  soon  the  truth. 
There  are  no  birds  in  last  year's  nest  I 


THE   VILLAGE    BLACKSMITH.  27 


THE  VILLAGE  BLACKSMITH. 

NDER  the  spreading  cliestnut-tree 
Tlie  village  smithy  stands ; 
The  smith,  a  mighty  man  is  he. 
With  large  and  sinewy  liands  ; 
And  the  muscles  of  his  brawny  arms 
Are  strong  as  iron  bands. 

His  hair  is  crisp,  and  black,  and  long. 

His  face  is  like  the  tan ; 
His  brow  is  wet  with  honest  sweat. 

He  earns  whate'er  he  can, 
And  looks  the  whole  world  in  the  face, 

For  he  owes  not  any  man. 

Week  in,  week  out,  from  morn  till  night. 
You  can  hear  his  bellows  blow; 

You  can  hear  him  swing  his  heavy  sledge. 
With  measured  beat  and  slow. 


28  FAVOUITK    POEMS. 

Like  a  sextou  ringing  the  village  bell. 
When  the  evening  sun  is  low. 

And  children  coming  home  from  school 

Look  in  at  the  open  door ; 
They  love  to  see  the  flaming  forge, 

And  hear  the  bellows  roar, 
And  catch  the  burning  sparks  that  fly 

Like  chaff  from  a  threshing-floor. 

He  goes  on  Sunday  to  the  church. 

And  sits  among  his  boys ; 
He  hears  the  parson  pray  and  preach, 

He  hears  his  daughter's  voice, 
Singing  in  the  village  choir, 

And  it  makes  his  heart  rejoice. 

It  sounds  to  iiim  like  lier  mother's  voice. 

Singing  in  Paradise  ! 
He  needs  must  think  of  her  once  more. 

How  in  tho  grave  she  lies  ; 
And  with  his  hard,  rough  hand  he  wipes 

A  tear  out  of  his  eyes. 

Toiling,  —  rejoicing,  —  sorrowing. 
Onward  through  life  he  goes  ; 


"Singing  in  the  village  choir." 


THE    GOBLET    OF   LIFE.  31 

Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin, 

Eacli  evening  sees  it  close  ; 
Sometbing  attempted,  something  done. 

Has  earned  a  night's  repose. 

Thanks,  thanks  to  thee,  my  worthy  friend. 
For  the  lesson  thou  hast  taught ! 

Thus  at  the  flaming  forge  of  life 
Our  fortunes  must  be  wrought ; 

Thus  on  its  sounding  anvil  shaped 
Each  buniing  deed  and  thought ! 


THE  GOBLET  OP  LIFE, 


*J 


|ILLED  is  Life's  goblet  to  the  brim, 
And  though  my  eyes  with  tears  are  dim, 
I  see  its  sparkling  bubbles  swim. 
And  chant  a  melancholy  hymn 
With  solemn  voice  and  slow. 

No  purple  flowers,  —  no  garlands  green. 
Conceal  the  goblet's  shade  or  sheen, 


32  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

Nor  maddening  draughts  of  Hippocrene, 
Like  gleams  of  sunshine,  flash  between 
Thick  leaves  of  mistletoe. 

This  goblet,  wrought  with  curious  art. 
Is  filled  with  waters,  that  upstart, 
When  the  deep  fountains  of  the  heart, 
By  strong  convulsions  rent  apart. 
Are  running  all  to  waste. 

And  as  it  mantling  passes  round. 
With  fennel  is  it  wreathed  and  crowned, 
Whose  seed  and  foUage  suu-inibrowned 
Are  in  its  waters  steeped  and  drowned. 
And  give  a  bitter  taste. 

Above  the  lowly  plants  it  towers. 
The  fennel,  with  its  yellow  flowers, 
And  in  an  earlier  age  than  ours 
Was  gifted  with  the  wondrous  powers. 
Lost  vision  to  restore. 

It  gave  new  strength,  and  fearless  mood ; 
And  gladiators,  fierce  and  rude, 
Mingled  it  in  their  daily  food ; 


THE   GOBLET    OF    LIFE.  33 

And  lie  "who  battled  and  subdued, 
A  wreath  of  feuuel  wore. 

Then  iu  Life's  goblet  freely  press, 
Tlie  leaves  tbat  give  it  bitterness. 
Nor  prize  the  colored  waters  less, 
For  iu  thy  darkness  and  distress 

New  light  and  strength  they  give  ! 

And  be  who  has  not  learned  to  know 
How  false  its  sparkhug  bubbles  show. 
How  bitter  are  the  drops  of  woe, 
With  which  its  brim  may  overflow, 
He  has  not  learned  to  live. 

The  prayer  of  Ajax  was  for  light ; 
Through  all  that  dark  and  desperate  fight. 
The  blackness  of  that  noonday  night. 
He  asked  but  the  return  of  sight. 
To  see  his  foeman's  face 

Let  our  unceasing,  earnest  prayer 
Be,  too,  for  light,  — for  strength  to  bear 
Our  portion  of  the  weight  of  care, 
That  crushes  into  dumb  despair 
One  half  the  human  race. 


34  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

0  sufFeriiig,  sad  liumanity ! 

0  ye  afflicted  ones,  vvlio  lie 
Steeped  to  the  lips  in  misery, 
Longing,  and  yet  afraid  to  die, 

Patient,  thougli  sorely  tried ! 

1  pledge  you  in  this  cup  of  grief, 
Where  floats  the  fennel's  bitter  leaf, 
Tlie  Battle  of  our  Life  is  brief. 

The  alarm,  —  the  struggle,  —  the  relief,  • 
Then  sleep  we  side  by  side. 


MAIDENHOOD. 

AIDEN  !  with  the  meek,  brown  eyes, 
In  whose  orbs  a  shadow  lies 
Like  the  dusk  in  evening  skies ! 


Tiiou  whose  locks  outshine  the  sun, 
Golden  tresses,  wreathed  in  one, 
As  the  braided  streamlets  run  ! 


MAIDENHOOD.  35 

Standing,  "witli  reluctant  feet. 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet  I 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance. 
On  the  brooklet's  swift  advance. 
On  the  river's  broad  expanse ! 

Deep  and  still,  that  gliding  stream 
Beautiful  to  thee  must  seem. 
As  the  river  of  a  dream. 

Then  why  pause  with  indecision, 
Wlien  bright  angels  in  thy  vision 
Beckon  thee  to  fields  Elysiau  ? 

Seest  thou  shadows  sailing  by. 
As  the  dove,  with  startled  eye, 
Sees  the  felcon's  shadow  fly  ? 

Hearest  thou  voices  on  the  shore. 
That  our  ears  perceive  no  more. 
Deafened  by  the  cataract's  roar  ? 


36  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

O,  thou  child  of  many  prayers ! 

Life  bath  quicksands,  —  Life  hath  snares,  ■ 

Care  and  age  come  unawares  ! 


Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Moraing  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June. 

Childhood  is  the  bough,  where  slumbered 
Birds  and  blossoms  many-numbered  ;  — 
Age,  that  bough  with  snows  encumbere'i. 

Gather,  then,  each  flower  tliat  grows, 
When  the  young  heart  overflows, 
To  embalm  that  tent  of  snows. 

Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  ; 

Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 

One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

Bear  through  sorrow,  wrong,  and  ruth. 
In  thy  heart  the  dew  of  youth. 
On  thy  lips  the  smile  of  truth. 


EXCELSIOR. 

O,  that  dew,  like  balm,  shall  steal 
Into  wounds,  that  cannot  heal. 
Even  as  sleep  our  eyes  doth  seal ; 

And  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  dart 
Into  many  a  sunless  heart. 
For  a  smile  of  God  thou  art. 


37 


EXCELSIOR. 

'HE  shades  of  night  were  falling  fast. 
As  through  an  Alpine  village  passed 
A  youth,  who  bore  mid  snow  and  ice 
A  banner  with  the  strange  device. 
Excelsior ! 


His  brow  was  sad ;  his  eye  beneath 
Flashed  like  a  falchion  from  its  sheath. 
And  like  a  silver  clarion  rung 
The  accents  of  that  unknown  tongue. 
Excelsior ! 


38  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

In  happy  homes  he  saw  the  light 
Of  household  fires  gleam  warm  and  bright ; 
Above,  the  spectral  glaciers  sboue. 
And  from  his  lips  escaped  a  groan. 
Excelsior ! 

"  Try  not  the  Pass !  "  the  old  man  said ; 
"  Dark  lowers  the  tempest  overhead, 
Tlie  roaring  torrent  is  deep  and  wide  ! " 
And  loud  that  clarion  voice  repUed, 
Excelsior ! 

"  O,  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "  and  rest 
Tliy  weary  head  upon  this  breast !  " 
A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye. 
But  still  he  answered,  with  a  sigh' 
Excelsior ! 

"  Beware  the  pine-tree's  withered  branch' 
Beware  the  awful  avalanche !  " 
This  was  the  peasant's  last  Good-night, 
A  voice  replied,  far  »ip  the  height. 

Excelsior ! 

At  break  of  day,  as  heavenward 
The  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard 


EXCELSIOR.  41 

Uttered  the  oft-repeated  prayer, 
A  voice  cried  through  the  startled  air. 
Excelsior! 

A  traveller,  by  the  faithful  hound. 
Half-buried  iu  the  snow  was  louud. 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  of  ice 
That  banner  with  the  strange  device. 
Excelsior ! 

There  in  the  twilight  cold  and  gray. 
Lifeless,  but  beautiful,  he  lay. 
And  from  the  sky,  serene  and  far, 
A  voice  fell,  Uke  a  falling  star. 
Excelsior ! 


42  FAVOUIXK   POEMS. 


A  GLEAM  OF  SUNSHINE. 

^^^  HIS  is  the  place.    Stand  still,  my  steed, 
Let  ine  review  the  scene. 
And  summon  from  the  shadowy  Past 
The  forms  that  once  have  been. 


The  Past  aud  Present  here  unite 

Beneath  Time's  flowing  tide. 
Like  footprints  hidden  by  a  brook. 

But  seen  on  either  side. 

Here  runs  the  highway  to  the  town ; 

There  the  green  lane  descends, 
Tlirough  which  1  walked  to  church  with  thee, 

O  gentlest  of  my  fiieuds  ! 

The  shadow  of  the  linden-trees 
Lay  moving  on  the  grass ; 


A   GLEAM    OF    SUNSHINE.  43 

Between  them  and  the  moving  bouglis, 
A  shadow,  thou  didst  pass. 


Tby  dress  was  like  the  lilies. 
And  thy  lieart  as  pure  as  they  ; 

One  of  God's  holy  messengers 
Did  walk  with  me  that  day. 


I  saw  the  branches  of  the  trees 
Bend  down  tliy  touch  to  meet. 

The  clover-blossoms  in  the  grass 
Ilise  up  to  kiss  thy  feet. 


"  Sleep,  sleep  to-day,  tormenting  carei^ 

Of  earth  and  folly  born  !  " 
Solennily  sang  the  village  choir 

On  that  sweet  Sabbath  morn. 


Through  the  closed  blinds  the  golden  sun 

Poured  in  a  dusty  beam. 
Like  the  celestial  ladder  seen 

By  Jacob  in  his  dream. 


44  FAVORITE    POKMS. 

And  ever  and  auon,  tlie  wind, 

Sweet-scented  with  the  hay, 
Turned  o'er  the  hymn-book's  fluttering  leaves 

That  on  the  window  lay. 

Long  was  tlie  good  man's  sermon. 

Yet  it  seemed  not  so  to  me  ; 
For  he  spake  of  Ruth  the  beautiful. 

And  still  I  thought  of  thee. 

Long  was  the  prayer  he  uttered. 

Yet  it  seemed  not  so  to  me  ; 
For  in  my  heart  I  prayed  with  him, 

And  still  I  thought  of  thee. 

But  now,  alas  !  the  place  seems  changed ; 

Thou  art  no  longer  here  ; 
Part  of  the  sunshine  of  the  scene 

With  thee  did  disappear. 

Though  thoughts,  deep-rooted  in  my  heart. 
Like  pine-trees  dark  and  high, 

Subdue  the  light  of  noon,  and  breathe 
A  low  and  ceaseless  sigli ; 


RAIN    IN   SUMMER.  45 

This  memory  brightens  o'er  the  past. 

As  wiien  the  suu,  concealed 
Behind  some  cloud  that  near  us  hangs. 

Shines  on  a  distant  field. 


EAIN  IN  SUMMER. 


OW  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 
After  the  dust  and  heat, 
In  the  broad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane, 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 


How  it  clatters  along  the  roofs. 

Like  the  tramp  of  hoofs  ! 

How  it  gushes  aii<?  struggles  out 

From  the  throat  o^  tbe  overflowing  spout ! 

Across  the  window-pan^ 

It  pours  and  pours  ; 

And  swift  and  wide. 

With  a  muddy  tide. 


46  FAVORITE   POEMS, 

Like  a  river  down  Hie  gutter  roars 
The  raiu,  the  welcome  raiu  ! 


The  sick  man  from  his  chamber  looks 

At  the  twisted  brooks  ; 

He  can  feel  the  cool 

Breath  of  each  little  pool ; 

His  fevered  biaiu 

Grows  calm  again, 

And  lie  breathes  a  blessing  on  the  rain. 

From  the  neighboring  school 

Come  the  boj's, 

With  more  than  their  wonted  noise 

And  commotion ; 

And  down  the  wet  streets 

Sail  their  mimic  fleets, 

Till  the  treacherous  pool 

Ingulfs  them  in  its  whirling 

And  tui-bulent  ocean. 

In  the  country,  on  every  side. 

Where,  far  and  wide, 

Like  a  leopard's  tawny  and  spotted  hide, 

Stretches  tlie  plain, 


RAIN    IN   SUMMER.  47 

To  the  dry  grass  and  the  drier  grain 
How  welcome  is  the  raiu ! 

In  the  furrowed  land 

The  toilsome  and  patient  oxen  stand  ; 

Lifting  tlie  yoke-encumbered  head, 

With  their  dilated  nostrils  spread, 

They  silently  inhale 

The  clover-scented  gale, 

And  the  vapors  that  arise 

From  the  well-watered  and  smoking  soil. 

For  this  rest  in  the  furrow  after  toil, 

Their  large  and  lustrous  eyes 

Seem  to  tiiank  the  Lord, 

More  than  man's  spoken  word. 


Near  at  hand. 

From  under  the  sheltering  trees, 

The  farmer  sees 

His  pastures,  and  his  fields  of  grain. 

As  they  bend  their  tops 

To  the  numberless  beating  drops 

Of  the  incessant  rain. 

He  counts  it  as  no  sin 

That  he  sees  therein 


48  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

Only  bis  own  thrift  and  gain. 

These,  and  I'ar  more  than  these. 

The  Poet  sees  ! 

He  can  behold 

Aquarius  old 

Walking  the  fenceless  fields  of  air ; 

And  from  each  ample  fold 

Of  the  clouds  about  him  rolled 

Scattering  everywhere 

The  showery  rain, 

As  the  farmer  scatters  his  grain. 

He  can  behold 

Tilings  manifold 

That  have  not  yet  been  wholly  told. 

Have  not  been  wholly  sung  nor  said. 

For  his  thought,  that  never  stops, 

Follows  the  water-drops 

Down  to  the  graves  of  the  dead, 

Down  through  chasms  and  gulfs  profound. 

To  the  dreary  fountain-head 

Of  lakes  and  rivers  under  ground  ; 

And  sees  them,  when  the  rain  is  done, 

On  the  bridge  of  colors  seven 

Climbing  up  once  more  to  heaven. 

Opposite  the  setting  sun. 


TO    A   CHILD.  49 

Thus  the  Seer, 

With  visiuu  clear. 

Sees  forms  appear  aud  disappear, 

In  the  perpetual  rouud  of  strange. 

Mysterious  change 

From  birth  to  death,  from  death  to  birth. 

From  earth  to  heaven,  from  heaven  to  earth  .• 

Till  glimpses  more  sublime 

Of  things,  unseen  before. 

Unto  his  wondering  eves  reveal 

The  Universe,  as  an  immeasurable  wheel 

Turning  forevermore 

In  the  rapid  and  rushing  river  of  Time. 


TO  A  CHILD. 


EAR    child !     how    radiant    on    thy 
mother's  knee, 
With  merry-making  eyes  and  jocund 
smiles. 
Thou  gazest  at  the  painted  tiles. 


50  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

Whnse  figures  grace. 
With  many  a  grotesque  form  and  face. 
The  ancient  cliimuey  of  thy  nursery  ! 
The  lady  with  the  gay  macaw, 
Tlie  dancing-girl,  the  grave  bashaw 
With  bearded  lip  and  chin  ; 
And,  leaning  idly  o'er  his  gate. 
Beneath  the  imperial  fan  of  state. 
The  Chinese  mandarin. 

With  what  a  look  of  proud  command 

Thou  sbakest  in  thy  little  hand 

The  coral  rattle  with  its  silver  bells, 

Making  a  merry  tune  ! 

Thousands  of  years  in  Indian  seas 

That  coral  grew,  by  slow  degrees, 

Until  some  deadly  and  wild  mousoou 

Dashed  it  on  Coromaudel's  sand  ! 

Those  silver  bells 

Reposed  of  yore. 

As  shapeless  ore, 

Far  down  in  the  deep-sunken  wells 

Of  darksome  mines. 

In  some  obscure  and  sunless  place, 

Beneath  huge  Chimborazo's  base. 


TO    A    CHILD.  51 

Or  Potosi's  o'erliaiigiiig  pines  ! 
And  thus  for  thee,  O  lillie  child, 
Through  many  a  danger  and  escape. 
The  tall  ships  passed  the  stormy  cape; 
Tor  thee  iu  foreign  hinds  remote, 
Beueatii  the  burning,  ti-opic  clime. 
The  Indian  peasant,  chasing  the  wild  goat. 
Himself  as  swift  and  wild. 
In  falling,  clutched  the  frail  arbute. 
The  fibres  of  whose  shallow  root. 
Uplifted  froHi  tlie  soil,  betrayed 
The  silver  veins  beneath  it  laid, 
The  buried  treasures  of  the  pirate,  Time- 
But,  lo  !  thy  door  is  left  ajar! 
Thou  hearest  footsteps  from  afar  J 
And,  at  tlie  sound. 
Thou  turucst  round 
With  quick  and  questioning  eyes. 
Like  one,  who,  in  a  foreign  laud. 
Beholds  on  every  hand 
Some  source  of  wonder  and  surprise  I 
And,  restlessly,  impatiently. 
Thou  strivest,  strugglest,  to  be  free. 
The  four  walls  of  thy  nursery 


52  FAVORITE  POEMS. 

Are  now  like  prison  walls  to  thee. 

No  more  thy  mother's  smiles. 

No  more  the  pointed  tiles, 

Delight  thee,  nor  the  playthings  on  the  floor 

That  won  thy  little,  beating  heart  before ; 

Thou  strugglest  for  the  open  door. 

Through  these  once  solitary  halls 

Thy  pattering  footstep  falls. 

The  sound  of  thy  merry  voice 

Makes  the  old  walls 

Jubilant,  and  they  rejoice 

With  the  joy  of  thy  young  heart. 

O'er  the  light  of  wliose  gladness 

No  shadows  of  sadness 

From  the  sombre  background  of  memory  start. 

Once,  ab,  once,  within  these  walls. 
One  whom  memory  ofl  recalls, 
The  Father  of  l»is  Country,  dwelt. 
And  yonder  meadows,  broad  and  damp. 
The  fires  of  tlie  besieging  camp 
Encircled  with  a  burning  belt. 
Up  and  down  these  echoing  stairs;. 
Heavy  with  the  weight  of  cai'es. 


TO   A  CHILD.  53 

Sounded  his  majestic  tread ; 

Yes,  within  this  very  room 

Sat  he  in  those  hours  of  gloom, 

Weary  both  in  heart  and  head. 

But  what  are  these  grave  thoughts  to  thee  ? 

Out,  out !  into  the  open  air ! 

Thy  only  dream  is  Uberty, 

Thou  carest  little  how  or  where. 

I  see  tliee  eager  at  thy  play. 

Now  shouting  to  the  apples  on  the  tree, 

With  cheeks  as  round  and  red  as  they ; 

And  now  among  the  yellow  stalks, 

Among  the  flowering  shrubs  and  plants, 

As  restless  as  the  bee. 

Along  the  garden  walks, 

The  tracks  of  thy  small  carriage- wheels  I  trace ; 

And  see  at  every  turn  how  they  efface 

Whole  villages  of  sand-roofed  tents, 

That  rise  like  golden  domes 

Above  the  cavernous  and  secret  homes 

Of  wandering  and  nomadic  tribes  of  ants. 

Ah,  cruel  little  Tamerlane, 

Wlio,  with  thy  dreadful  reign, 

Dost  persecute  and  overwhelm 

These  hapless  Troglodytes  of  thy  realm  ! 


54  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

What !  tired  already  I   with  those  snppliant 

looks, 
And  voice  more  beautiful  than  a  poet's  books. 
Or  murmuring  sound  of  water  as  it  flows. 
Thou  comest  back  to  parley  with  repose  I 

This  rustic  seat  in  the  old  apple-tree. 
With  its  o'erlianging  golden  canopy 
Of  leaves  illuminate  with  autumnal  hues. 
And  shining  with  the  argent  light  of  dews. 
Shall  for  a  season  be  our  place  of  rest. 
Beneath  us,  like  an  oriole's  pendent  nest, 
From  which  the  laughing  birds  t>ave  taken  wing, 
By  thee  abandoned,  hangs  thy  vacant  swing. 
Dream-like  the  waters  of  the  river  gleam  ; 
A  sailless  vessel  drops  adown  the  stream. 
And  like  it,  to  a  sea  as  wide  and  deep, 
Thou  driftest  gently  down  the  tides  of  sleep. 

O  child !  0  new-born  denizen 
Of  life's  great  city  !  on  thy  head 
The  glory  of  the  morn  is  shed. 
Like  a  celestial  benison  ! 
Here  at  the  portal  thou  dost  stand. 
And  with  thy  little  hand 


TO   A   CHILD.  57 

Thou  openest  the  mysterious  gate 

Into  the  future's  undiscovered  land. 

I  see  its  valves  expand. 

As  at  the  touch  of  Fate ! 

Into  those  realms  of  love  and  hate, 

Into  that  darkness,  blank  and  drear. 

By  some  prophetic  feeling  taught, 

I  launch  the  bold,  adventurous  thought. 

Freighted  with  liope  and  fear; 

As  upon  subterranean  streams. 

In  caverns  unexplored  and  dark. 

Men  sometimes  launch  a  fragile  bark. 

Laden  with  flickering  fire. 

And  watch  its  swift-receding  beams, 

Until  at  length  they  disappear,  ll^B 

And  in  the  distant  dark  expire.  ^^^. 

By  what  astrology  of  fear  or  hope 

Dare  I  to  cast  thy  horoscope ! 

Like  the  new  moon  thy  life  appears ; 

A  little  strip  of  silver  light. 

And  widening  outward  into  night 

The  shadowy  disk  of  future  years ; 

And  yet  upon  its  outer  rim, 

A  luminous  circle,  faint  and  dim, 

And  scarcely  visible  to  us  here, 


58  FAVOUITE    POEMS. 

Rounds  and  completes  the  perfect  sphere ; 

A  prophecy  and  intimation, 

A  pale  and  feeble  adumbration, 

Of  the  great  world  of  light,  that  lies 

Behind  all  human  destinies. 

Ah  !  if  thy  fate,  with  anguish  fraught. 
Should  be  to  wet  the  dusty  soil 
With  the  hot  tears  and  sweat  of  toil, — 
To  struggle  witli  imperious  thought. 
Until  the  overburdened  brain. 
Weary  with  labor,  faiut  with  pain. 
Like  a  jarred  pendulum,  retain 
Only  its  motion,  not  its  power,  — 
Remember,  in  that  perilous  hour, 
When  most  afflicted  and  oppressed. 
From  labor  there  shall  come  forth  rest. 

And  if  a  more  auspicious  fate 
On  tliy  advancing  steps  await. 
Still  let  it  ever  be  thy  pride 
To  linger  by  the  laborer's  side ; 
With  words  of  sympathy  or  song 
To  cheer  the  dreary  marcli  along 
Of  the  great  army  of  the  poor. 
O'er  desert  sand,  o'er  dangerous  moor. 


TO   A    CHILD,  59 

Nor  to  thyself  the  task  shall  be 
Without  reward ;  for  thou  shalt  learn 
The  wisdom  early  to  discern 
True  beauty  iu  utility ; 
As  great  Pythagoras  of  yore, 
Standiug  beside  the  blacksmith's  door. 
And  hearing  the  ham  triers,  as  tliey  smote 
The  anvils  with  a  different  note. 
Stole  from  the  varying  tones,  that  hung 
Vibrant  on  every  iron  tongue. 
The  secret  of  the  sounding  wire. 
And  formed  the  seven-chorded  lyre. 
Enough!  I  will  not  play  the  Seer; 
I  will  no  longer  strive  to  ope 
The  mystic  volume,  where  appear 
The  herald  Hope,  forerunning  Fear, 
And  Fear,  the  pursuivant  of  Hope, 
Thy  destiny  remains  untold ; 
For,  like  Acestes'  shaft  of  old, 
Tlie  swift  thought  kindles  as  it  flies. 
And  burns  to  ashes  iu  the  skies. 


60  FAVORITE   POEMS. 


THE  BBIDGE. 

STOOD  ou  the  bridge  at  midnight. 

As  the  clocks  were  striking  tlie  hour, 
Aud  the  moon  rose  o'er  the  city, 
Behind  tiie  dark  church-tower. 

I  saw  her  bright  reflection 

In  the  waters  under  me. 
Like  a  golden  goblet  falling 

And  sinking  into  the  sea.  j 

And  far  in  the  hazy  distance  ] 

Of  that  lovely  night  in  June,  3 

The  blaze  of  the  flaming  furnace  ' 

Gleamed  redder  than  the  moon.  i 

Among  the  long,  black  rafters  j 

The  wavering  shadows  lay,  j 

And  the  current  that  came  from  the  ocean 
Seemed  to  lift  and  bear  them  away ; 

V 


THE   BRIDGE.  61 

As,  sweeping  and  eddying  through  them. 

Rose  the  belated  tide. 
And,  streaming  into  the  raoouhght. 

The  sea-weed  floated  wide. 

And  hke  those  waters  rushing 

Among  the  wooden  piers, 
A  flood  of  tlioughts  came  o'er  me 

That  filled  my  eyes  with  tears. 

How  often,  0,  how  often. 

In  the  days  that  had  gone  by, 
I  had  stood  on  that  bridge  at  midnight 

And  gazed  on  that  wave  and  sky ! 

How  often,  O,  how  often, 

I  had  wished  that  the  ebbing  tide 

Would  bear  me  away  on  its  bosom 
O'er  the  ocean  wild  and  wide  ! 

Por  my  heart  was  hot  and  restless. 

And  my  life  was  full  of  care. 
And  the  burden  laid  upon  me 

Seemed  greater  than  I  could  bear. 


62  '  FAVORITE    P0EM8. 

But.  now  it  lins  fallen  from  me, 

It  is  buried  in  the  sea; 
And  only  the  sorrow  of  others 

Throws  its  shadow  over  me. 

Yet  whenever  I  cross  the  river 
On  its  bridge  with  wooden  piers. 

Like  the  odor  of  brine  from  the  ocean 
Comes  the  thought  of  other  years. 

And  I  think  how  many  thousands 
Of  care-eucunibered  men, 

Each  bearing  his  burden  of  sorrow. 
Have  crossed  the  bridge  since  then. 

I  see  the  long  procession 

Still  ])assing  to  and  fro, 
The  young  heart  hot  and  restless. 

And  the  old  subdued  and  slow ! 

^nd  forever  and  forever, 
As  long  as  the  river  flows, 

Vs  long-  a>:  the  heart  has  passions, 
As  ]ong  a^  life  ^a^.  woes ; 


THE   DAY    IS   DONE.  63 

The  moon  and  its  brolceii  reflection 
And  its  shadows  shall  appear. 

As  tLe  s,ynibol  of  love  in  heaven. 
And  its  waveriiisr  imasre  here. 


THE  DAY  IS  DONE. 

HE  day  is  done,  and  the  darkness 
Tails  from  the  wings  of  Night, 
As  a  feather  is  wafted  downward 
From  an  eagle  in  his  flight. 

I  see  the  lights  of  the  village 

Gleam  through  the  rain  and  the  mist. 
And  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes  o'er  me. 

That  my  soul  cannot  resist : 

A  feeling  of  sadness  and  longing. 

That  is  not  akin  to  pain, 
And  resembles  sorrow  only 

As  the  mist  resembles  the  rain. 


64  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

Come,  read  to  me  some  poem, 
Some  simple  aud  heartfelt  lay. 

That  shall  soothe  this  restless  feeling, 
Aud  bauish  the  thoughts  of  day. 

Not  from  the  grand  old  masters. 
Not  from  the  bards  sublime, 

Whose  distant  footsteps  echo 
Through  the  corridors  of  Time. 

For,  like  strains  of  martial  music. 
Their  mighty  thoughts  suggest 

Life's  endless  toil  and  endeavor; 
And  to-night  I  long  for  rest. 

Read  from  some  humbler  poet, 
Whose  songs  gushed  from  his  heart. 

As  showers  from  the  clouds  of  summer. 
Or  tears  from  the  eyelids  start ; 

Who,  through  long  days  of  labor. 

And  nights  devoid  of  ease, 
Still  heard  in  his  soul  the  music 

Of  wonderful  melodies. 


THE    DAY    IS    DONE-  65 

St;pli  songs  have  power  to  quiet 

Tlie  restlet-s  pulse  of  care, 
And  come  like  the  benediction 

Tliat  follows  after  prayer. 

Tlien  read  from  the  treasured  volume 

The  poem  of  thy  choice. 
And  lend  to  the  rhyme  of  the  poet 

The  beauty  of  tliy  voice- 

And  tlie  night  shall  be  filled  with  music. 
And  the  cares,  that  infest  the  day. 

Shall  fold  their  tents,  like  the  Arabs, 
And  as  silently  steal  awaj. 


66  FAVOKITE    POEMS. 


THE  ARBOW  AND  THE  SONG. 


SHOT  au  arrow  into  the  air. 
It  fell  to  eartb,  1  knew  not  where; 
For,  so  swiftly  it  flew,  the  sight 
Could  not  follow  it  in  its  flight. 

I  breathed  a  song  into  the  air. 
It  fell  to  earth,  I  knew  not  where ; 
For  who  has  sight  so  keen  and  strong. 
That  it  can  follow  the  flight  of  song? 

Long,  long  afterward,  in  an  oak 
I  found  the  arrow,  still  unbroke ; 
And  the  song,  from  beginning  to  end, 
I  found  again  in  the  heart  of  a  friend. 


THE    OLD    CLOC.i   ON    THE   STAIRS.       67 


THE  OLD  CLOCK  ON  THE  STAIRS. 


"  L'eternite  est  une  pendule,  dont  le  balancier  dit  et  re- 
dit  saus  cesse  ces  deux  uots  seulement,  daus  le  silence 
des  tombeaux:  'Toujours!  jamais!  Jamais!  toujours !  "* 
JAcquKB  Bbisaine. 


;  OME  WHAT  back  from  the  village  street 
Stauds  the  old-fashioued  country-seat. 

Across  its  antique  portico 
Tall  poplar-trees  their  shadows  throw. 
And  from  its  station  in  the  hall 
Au  ancient  timepiece  says  to  all,  — 

"  Forever  —  never  ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 


Half-way  up  the  stairs  it  stands, 
And  points  and  beckons  with  its  hands 
From  its  case  of  massive  oak, 
Like  a  monk,  who,  under  his  cloak, 


68  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

Crosses  liimself,  and  sighs,  alas ! 

With  sorrowful  voice  to  all  who  pass,  — 

"Forever  —  uever ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 

By  day  its  voice  is  low  and  light; 

But  in  the  silent  dead  of  night. 

Distinct  as  a  passing  footstep's  fall. 

It  echoes  along  the  vacant  hall, 

Along  the  ceiling,  along  the  floor. 

And  seems  to  say,  at  each  chauiber-door,  — 

"  Forever  —  never  ! 

Never  —  forever  !  " 

Through  days  of  sorrow  and  of  niirlh, 
Tiirougli  days  of  death  and  days  of  birth. 
Through  every  swift  vicissitude 
Of  changeful  time,  unchanged  it  has  stood. 
And  as  if,  like  God,  it  all  things  saw, 
It  calmly  repeats  those  words  of  awe, — 

"  Forever  —  never  I 

Never  —  forever  !  " 

In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  Hospitality ; 


"There  groui)s  of  merry  children  played." 


THE   OLD   CLOCK   ON   THE   STAIRS.       71 

His  great  fires  up  the  cliimney  roared ; 
The  stranger  feasted  at  liis  board  : 
But,  like  the  skeleton  at  the  feast, 
That  warning  timepiece  never  ceased,  — 

"  Forever  —  never  ! 

Never  —  forever  ! " 


There  groups  of  merry  children  played, 

There  youths  and  maidens  dreaming  strayed. 

O  precious  hours !   O  golden  prime. 

And  affluence  of  love  and  time  ! 

Even  as  a  miser  counts  his  gold. 

Those  hours  the  ancient  timepiece  told, — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever  !  " 


From  that  chamber,  clothed  in  -white, 
The  bride  came  forth  on  her  wedding  night ; 
There,  in  that  silent  room  below. 
The  dead  lay  in  his  shroud  of  snow ; 
And  in  the  hush  that  followed  the  prayer, 
Was  heard  the  old  clock  on  the  stair,  — 

"  Forever  —  never ! 

Never  —  forever !  " 


72  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

All  are  scattered  now  and  fled, 
Some  are  married,  some  are  dead ; 
And  when  I  ask,  with  tijiobs  of  pain, 
"  Ah  !  when  shall  they  all  meet  again  ?  " 
As  in  the  days  long  since  gone  by, 
The  ancient  timepiece  makes  reply,  — 

"  Forever  — ■  never  ! 

Never  —  forever  !  " 

Never  here,  forever  there, 
Where  all  parting,  pain,  and  care, 
And  death,  and  time  shall  disappear,  — 
Forever  there,  but  never  here  ! 
The  horologe  of  Eternity 
Sayeth  this  incessantly, — 

"  Forever  —  never  1 

Never  —  forever !  " 


i 


THE   SECRET   OF   THE   SEA.  73 


THE  SECRET  OP  THE  SEA. 

H  !  what  pleasant,  visions  haunt  me 

As  I  gaze  upon  the  sea  ! 
All  the  old  romantic  legends, 
All  my  dreams,  come  back  to  me. 

Sails  of  silk  and  ropes  of  sendal, 
Such  as  gleam  in  ancient  lore; 

And  the  singing  of  the  sailors, 
And  the  answer  from  the  shore  ! 

Most  of  all,  the  Spanish  ballad 
Haunts  me  oft,  and  tarries  long, 

Of  the  noble  Count  Arnaldos 
And  the  sailor's  mystic  song. 

Like  the  long  waves  on  a  sea-beach. 
Where  the  sand  as  silver  shines, 


<4  FAVORITE   POEMS. 

With  a  soft,  iiiouotonous  cadence, 
Flow  its  uurbyiued  lyric  lines  ;  — 

Telling  how  the  Count  Arnaldos, 

Witli  his  hawk  upon  his  hand, 
Saw  a  fair  and  stately  galley, 

Steering  onward  to  the  land  ;  — 

How  he  heard  the  ancient  helmsman 

Chant  a  song  so  wild  and  clear, 
That  the  sailing  sea-bird  slowly 

Poised  upon  the  mast  to  hear. 

Till  his  soul  was  full  of  longing, 

And  he  cried,  with  impulse  strong,  — 

"  Helmsman  !  for  the  love  of  heaven. 
Teach  me,  too,  that  wondrous  song!  " 

"  Wouldst  thou,"  —  so  the  helmsman  answered, 

"  Learn  the  secret  of  the  sea  ?, 
Only  those  who  brave  its  dangers 

Comprehend  its  mystery  !  " 

In  each  sail  that  skims  the  horizon, 
In  eacli  landward-blowing  breeze, 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  75 

I  behold  that  stately  galley, 
Hear  those  niouruful  melodies  ; 

Till  my  soul  is  fall  of  longing 

For  the  secret  of  the  sea, 
And  the  heart  of  the  great  ocean 

Sends  a  thrilling  pulse  through  me. 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

'HE  rocky  ledge  runs  far  into  the  sea, 
And  on  its  outer  point,  some  miles 
away, 

The  Lighthouse  lifts  its  massive  masonry, 
A  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  of  cloud  by  day. 

Even  at  this  distance  I  can  see  the  tides, 
Uplieaving,  break  unheard  along  its  base, 

A  speechless  wrath,  that  rises  and  subsides 
In  the  white  lip  and  tremor  of  the  face. 


4 


76  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

And  as  the  evening  darkens,  lo !  bow  bright, 
Through  the  dee|)  purple  of  the  twiiiglit  air, 

Beams  I'ortii  the  sudden  radiance  of  its  liglit, 
Wii  ii  strange,  uucartlily  splendor  in  its  glare ! 

Not  one  alone  ;  from  each  projecting  cape 
And  porilous  reef  along  the  ocean's  verge, 

Slarts  into  life  a  dim,  gigantic  shape. 

Holding  its  lantern  o'er  the  restless  surge. 

Like  the  great  giant  Christopher  it  stands 
Upon  the  brink  of  the  tempestuous  wave. 

Wading  far  out  among  the  rocks  and  sands. 
The  uight-o'ertaken  mariner  to  save. 

And  the  great  ships  sail  outward  and  return. 
Bending  and  bowing  o'er  the  billowy  swells, 

And  ever  joyful,  as  they  see  it  burn. 

They  wave  their  silent  welcomes  and  fare- 
wells. 

They  come  forth  from  the  darkness,  and  their 
sails 

Gleam  for  a  moment  only  in  the  blaze. 
And  eag3r  faces,  as  the  light  unveils. 

Gaze  at  the  tower,  and  vanish  while  they  gaze. 


THE   LIGHTHOUSE.  77 

The  marinpr  remembers  when  a  child, 

Oil  his  first  voyage,  he  saw  it  fade  and  siuk; 

And  when,  retuniiiig  from  adventures  wild, 
He  saw  it  rise  again  o'er  ocean's  brink. 

STeadtist,  serene,  immovable,  the  same 

Year  after  year,  tlirough  all  the  silent  night, 

Burns  on  forevermore  that  quenchless  flame. 
Shines  on  that  inextinguishable  hght ! 

It  sees  the  ocean  to  its  bosom  clasp 

The  rocks  and  sea-sand  with  the  kiss  of  peace; 

It  sees  the  wild  winds  lift  it  in  their  grasp. 
And  hold  it  up,  and  shake  it  like  a  fleece. 

The  startled  waves  leap  over  it ;  the  storm 
Smites  it  with  all  the  scourges  of  the  rain. 

And  steadily  against  its  solid  form 

Press  the  great  shoulders  of  the  hurricane. 

The  sea-bird  wheeling  round  it,  with  the  din 
Of  wings  and  winds  and  solitary  cries. 

Blinded  and  maddened  by  the  light  within. 
Dashes  himself  against  the  glare,  and  dies. 


lb  KAVOEITE    POEMS. 

A  new  Prometheus,  chained  upon  the  rock. 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  the  fire  of  Jove, 

It  does  noi  hear  the  cry,  nor  heed  the  shock. 
But  hails  the  mariner  with  words  of  love. 

"Sail  on !  "  it  says,  "sail  on,  ye  stately  ships ! 

And  with  your  floating  bridge  the  ocean  span ; 
Be  mine  to  guard  this  light  from  all  eclipse. 

Be  yours  to  bring  man  nearer  unto  man  !  " 


RESIGNATION. 

HERE  is  no  flock,  however  watched 
and  tended, 
^     But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ! 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended. 
But  has  one  vacant  chair ! 

The  air  is  full  of  farewells  to  the  dying. 
And  mournings  for  the  dead ; 


RESIGNATION.  79 

The  heart  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying. 
Will  not  be  comforted ! 


Let  us  be  patient !     These  severe  afflictions 

Not  from  the  ground  arise. 
But  oftentimes  celestial  benedictions 

Assume  this  dark,  disguise. 

We  see  but  dimly  through  the  mists  and  vapors; 

Amid  these  earthly  damps. 
What  seem  to  us  but  sad,  funereal  tapers 

May  be  heaven's  distant  lamps. 

There  is  no  Death  1    What  seems  so  is  transi- 
tion. 

This  life  of  mortal  breath 
Is  but  a  suburb  of  the  life  elysian. 

Whose  portal  we  call  Death. 

She  is  not  dead, — the  child  of  our  affection, — 

But  gone  unto  that  school 
Where  she  no  longer  needs  our  poor  protection. 

And  Christ  himself  doth  rule. 


80  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

Ill  that  grnat  cloister's  stillness  and  seclusion. 

By  giuudi;m  angels  led, 
SatV-  tVom  temptation,  safe  IVom  sin's  pollution, 

She  lives,  whom  we  call  dead. 

D  ly  after  d  ij  we  tliink  what  she  is  doing 

In  those  bright  realms  of  air  ; 
Year  after  year,  her  tender  steps  pursuing, 

Behold  her  grown  more  fair. 

Thus  do  we  walk  with  her,  and  keep  unbroken 

The  bond  which  nature  gives. 
Thinking  that  our  remembrance,  though  un- 
spoken. 

May  reach  her  where  she  lives. 

Not  as  a  child  shall  we  ngain  behold  her ; 

For  when  with  raptures  wild 
In  our  en\braces  we  again  enfold  her, 

She  will  not  be  a  child  ; 


But  a  fair  maiden,  in  her  Father's  manslou, 
Clothed  with  celestial  grace  ; 


hr- 


RESIGNATION.  81 

And  beautiful  with  all  the  soul's  expansion 
Shall  we  behold  her  face. 


And  though  at  times  impetuous  with  emotion 

And  anguish  long  suppressed, 
The  swelling  heart  heaves  moaning  like  the 
ocean, 

That  cannot  be  at  rest,  — 

We  will  be  patient,  and  assuage  the  feeling 

We  may  not  wholly  stay ; 
By  silence  sanctifying,  not  concealing. 

The  grief  that  must  have  way. 


O" 


82  FAVORITE   POEMS. 


HAUNTED  HOUSES. 

LL   Louses  whereia  men  have  lived 

and  died 

Are  liaunted  houses.     Through  the 

open  doors 

The  harmless  phantoms  on  fheir  errands  glide, 

With  feet  that  make  no  sound  upon  the  floors. 

We  meet  tliem  at  the  doorway,  on  the  stair. 
Along  the  passages  they  come  and  go. 

Impalpable  impressions  on  the  air, 

A  sense  of  something  moving  to  and  fro. 

There  are  more  guests  at  table,  than  the  hosts 

Invited  ;  the  illuminated  hall 
Is  thronged  witli  quiet,  inofTonsive  ghosts, 

As  silent  as  the  picture^u  the  wall. 

The  stranger  at  my  fireside  cannot  see 
The  forms  I  see,  nor  hear  the  sounds  I  hear ; 


HAUNTED    HOUSES.  83 

He  but  perceives  what  is ;  while  unto  ine 
All  that  has  been  is  visible  and  clear. 

We  have  no  title-deeds  to  house  or  lands  ; 

Owners  and  occupants  of  earlier  dates 
From   graves    forgotten    stretch   their  dusty 
hands. 

And  hold  in  mortmain  still  their  old  estates. 

The  spirit-world  around  this  world  of  sense 
Floats  like  an  atmosphere,  and  everywhere 

Wafts  through  these  earthly  mists  and  vapors 
dense 
A  vital  breath  of  more  ethereal  air. 


Our  little  lives  are  kept  in  equipoise 
By  opposite  attractions  and  desires  ; 

The  struggle  of  the  instinct  that  enjoys. 
And  the  more  noble  instinct  that  aspires. 

These  perturbations,  this  perpetual  jar 
Of  earthly  wants  and  aspirations  high, 

Come  from  the  influence  of  an  unseen  star, 
An  undiscovered  planet  in  our  sky. 


84  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

And  as  the  moon  from  some  dark  gate  of  cloud 
Throws  o'er  the  sea  a  floating  bridge  of  light, 

Across  whose  trembling  planks   our   fancies 
crowd 
Into  the  realm  of  mystery  and  night,  — 

So  from  the  world  of  spirits  there  descends 
A  bridge  of  light,  connecting  it  with  this, 

O'er  wiiose  unsteady  floor,  that  sways  and 
bends. 
Wander  our  thoudits  above  the  dark  abvss. 


SANDALPHON.  85 


SANDAIiPHOW. 


'AVE  you  read  in  the  Talmud  of  old, 
111  the  Legends  the  llahbius  have  told 
Of  the  limitless  realms  of  the  air,  — 
Have  you  read  it,  —  the  marvellous  story 
Of  Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Glory, 
Sandalphon,  the  Angel  of  Prayer  ? 

How,  erect,  at  the  outermost  gates 
Of  the  City  Celestial  he  waits, 

With  his  feet  on  the  ladder  of  light, 
Tliat,  crowded  with  angels  unnumbered. 
By  Jacob  was  seen,  as  he  slumbered 

Alone  in  the  desert  at  night  ? 

The  Angels  of  Wind  and  of  Tire 
Chaunt  only  one  hymn,  and  expire 

With  the  song's  irresistible  stress ; 
Expire  in  their  rapture  and  wonder, 


86  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

As  harp-strings  are  broken  asunder 
By  music  they  throb  to  express. 

But  serene  in  tlie  rapturous  throng, 
Unmoved  by  the  rush  of  the  song, 

With  eyes  uuimpassioued  and  slow, 
Among  the  dead  angels,  the  deathless 
Sandalphon  stands  listening  breathless 

To  sounds  that  ascend  from  below  ;  — 

Prom  the  spirits  on  earth  that  adore, 
Trom  the  souls  that  entreat  and  implore 

In  the  fervor  and  passion  of  prayer ; 
From  the  hearts  that  are  broken  with  losses 
And  weary  with  dragging  the  crosses 

Too  heavy  for  mortals  to  bear. 

And  he  gathers  the  prayers  as  he  stands, 
And  they  change  into  flowers  in  his  hands, 

Into  garlands  of  purple  and  red  ; 
And  beneath  the  great  arch  of  the  portal, 
Through  the  streets  of  the  City  Immortal 

Is  wafted  the  fragrance  they  shed. 

It  is  but  a  legend,  I  know,  — 
A  fable,  a  phantom,  a  show, 


SANDALPHON.  87 

Of  the  ancient  Rabbinical  lore ; 
Yet  the  old  niediseval  trudit  ion, 
The  beautiful,  strange  superstition, 

But  haunts  me  and  holds  me  the  more. 

When  I  look  from  my  window  at  night. 
And  the  welkin  above  is  all  white, 

All  throbbing  and  panting  with  stars. 
Among  them  majestic  is  standing 
Sandalphon  the  angel,  expanding 

His  pinions  in  nebulous  bars. 

And  the  legend,  I  feel,  is  a  part 

Of  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  the  heart,         'jeii 

The  frenzy  and  fire  of  the  brain. 
That  grasps  at  the  fruitage  forbidden. 
The  golden  pomegranates  of  Eden, 

To  quiet  its  fever  and  pain. 


88  FAVORITE     'OEMS. 


THE  CHILDREN'S  HOUB. 


ETWEEN  the  dark  and  the  daylight. 
Wlieu  the  night  is  beginning  to  lowet^ 
Comes  a  pause  in  tlie  day's  occupations, 
That  is  knowu  as  the  Children's  Hour. 


I  hear  in  the  cliamber  above  me 

The  patter  of  little  feet, 
The  sound  of  a  door  that  is  opened. 

And  voices  soft  and  sweet. 

From  my  study  I  see  in  the  lamplight. 
Descending  the  broad  hall  stair. 

Grave  Alice,  and  laughing  Allegra, 
And  Edith  with  golden  hair. 

A  whisper,  and  then  a  silence  : 
Yet  I  know  by  their  merry  eyes 


THE  children's   HOUR.  89 

They  are  plotting  and  planning  together 
To  take  me  by  surprise. 


A  sudden  rush  from  the  stairway, 
A  sudden  raid  from  the  hall ! 

By  three  doors  left  unguarded 
They  enter  my  castle  wall ! 

They  climb  up  into  my  turret 

O'er  the  arms  and  back  of  my  chair ; 

If  I  try  to  escape,  tliey  surround  me  ; 
They  seem  to  be  everywhere. 


They  almost  devour  me  with  kisses. 
Their  arms  about  me  entwine, 

Till  I  think  of  the  Bishop  of  Bingen 
In  his  Mouse-Tower  on  the  Rhiue  '. 


Do  you  think,  0  blue-eyed  banditti. 
Because  you  have  scaled  the  wall. 

Such  an  old  moustaclie  as  I  am 
Is  not  a  match  for  you  all ! 


90  FAVORITE    POEMS. 

I  have  you  fast  in  my  fortress, 
And  M'ill  not  let  you  depart, 

But  put  you  down  into  the  dungeon 
In  the  round-tower  of  my  heart. 

And  there  will  I  keep  you  forever. 

Yes,  forever  and  a  day, 
Till  the  walls  shall  crumble  to  ruin. 

And  moulder  in  dust  away ! 


A  DAY  OF  SUNSHINE. 


GirT  of  God  !     O  perfect  day  : 
Whereon  shall  no  man  work,  but 
play; 

Whereon  it  is  enough  for  me, 
Not  to  be  doing,  but  to  be  ! 

Through  every  fibre  of  my  brain. 
Through  every  nerve,  through  every  vein, 
I  feel  the  electric  thrill,  the  touch 
Of  life,  that  seems  almost  too  much. 


A   DAY    OF   SUNSHINE.  91 

I  hear  the  wind  among  the  trees 
Playing  celestial  symphonies ; 
I  see  the  branches  downward  bent. 
Like  keys  of  some  great  instrument. 

And  over  me  unrolls  on  high 
The  splendid  scenery  of  the  sky. 
Where  through  a  sapphire  sea  the  sun 
Sails  like  a  golden  galleon, 

Towards  yonder  cloud-land  in  the  West, 
Towards  yonder  Islands  of  the  Blest, 
Whose  steep  sierra  far  uplifts 
Its  craggy  summits  white  with  drifts. 

Blow,  winds  !  and  waft  through  all  the  rooms 
The  snow-flakes  of  the  cherry-blooms  ! 
Blow,  winds !  and  bend  within  my  reach 
The  fiery  blossoms  of  the  peach ! 

■  O  Life  and  Love  !     0  happy  throng 
Of  thoughts,  whose  only  speech  is  song ! 
O  heart  of  man !  canst  thou  not  be 
Blithe  as  the  air  is,  and  as  free  ? 


92  FAVORITE   POEMS. 


CHILDREN. 


OME  to  me,  O  ye  children ! 

For  I  hear  you  at  your  play, 
And  the  questions  that  perplexed  me 
Have  vanished  quite  away. 

Ye  open  tlie  eastern  windows. 

That  look  towards  liie  sun, 
Where  thoughts  are  singing  swallows 

And  the  brooks  of  morning  I'un. 

In  your  hearts  are  tlie  birds  and  the  sunshine, 
In  your  thouglits  the  brooklet's  flow. 

But  in  mine  is  the  wind  of  Autumn 

And  the  first  fall  of  the  snow.  , 

Ah  !  what  would  the  world  be  to  us 

If  the  children  were  no  more  ? 
We  should  dread  the  desert  behind  us 

Worse  than  the  dark  before. 


CHILDREN.  93 

What  the  leaves  are  to  the  forest. 

With  light  and  air  for  food, 
Ere  their  sweet  and  lender  juices 

Have  been  hardened  into  wood,  — 

That  to  the  world  are  cliildren; 

Through  them  it  feels  the  glow 
Of  a  brighter  and  sunnier  climate 

Thau  reaches  the  trunks  below. 

Come  to  me,  O  ye  children  1 

And  whisper  in  my  ear 
What  the  birds  and  the  windo  are  singing 

In  your  sunny  atmosphere. 

For  what  are  all  our  contrivings. 

And  the  wisdom  of  our  books. 
When  compared  with  your  caresses. 

And  the  gladness  of  your  looks  ? 

Ye  are  better  than  all  the  ballads 

That  ever  were  sung  or  said ; 
For  ye  are  living  poems. 

And  all  the  rest  are  dead. 


94  FAVORITE    POEMS. 


CHRISTMAS  BELLS. 

HEARD  the  bells  on  Christmas  Day 
Their  old,  familiar  carols  play. 

And  wild  and  sweet 

The  words  repeat 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! 

And  thought  how,  as  the  day  had  come. 
The  belfries  of  all  Christendom 

Had  rolled  along 

The  unbroken  song 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! 

Till,  ringing,  singing  on  its  way, 
Tlie  world  revolved  from  night  to  day, 

A  voice,  a  chime, 

A  chant  sublime 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men  I 

Then  from  each  black,  accursed  mouth. 
The  cannon  thundered  in  the  South, 


CHRISTMAS   BELLS.  95 

And  with  the  sound 

The  carols  drowned 

Of  peace  on  earth,  good- will  to  men ! 

It  was  as  if  an  earthquake  rent 
The  hearth-stones  of  a  coutineiit. 

And  made  forlorn 

The  houseliolds  born 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good- will  to  men  I 

And  in  despair  I  bowed  my  head ; 
"There  is  no  peace  on  earth/'  1  said; 

"  For  hate  is  strong 

And  mocks  the  song 
Of  peace  on  earth,  good- will  to  men  1 " 

Then  pealed  the  bells  more  loud  and  deep : 
"  God  is  not  dead  ;  nor  dotli  he  sleep  ! 

The  Wrong  shall  fail, 

Tlie  Right  prevail, 
With  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ! " 


Fav. 

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liV. 

M.,  -KB. 

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